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THE MORVILLE SERIES. 


The Chateau Morville 

OR, 


L IFE IN ToURAINE. 



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THE 



Morville; 


OR, 


LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


FROM THE FRENCH. 



riTILADELPHIA: 

CLAXTON, REMSEN & H AFFELFINGER". 
iBy2, 


,C 0^ 


£ntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


KING * BAIRD, PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS; 
607 & 609 SANSOM STREET, PHILADA. 


PREFACE. 


This volume is the first of a contemplated series 
of 

Entertaining Foreign Fiction^ 
to consist of a selection of some of the best works 
of the most popular Continental authors. 

It is intended especially for that class of readers 
who, while desirous of enjoying all the instruction 
and amusement to be derived from a first-class 
novel, do not wish, by indiscriminate reading, to run 
the risk of having their modesty offended, their 
common sense outraged, or their moral feelings 
shocked. 

The first duty of a Translator of works of fiction 
is, undoubtedly, to give a faithful version of his 
subject — ^not of course by slavishly rendering the 
original word for word — but by employing, if 
possible, the very same expressions the authors 
themselves would have preferred, if they had been 
writing in his language. 


2 


PREFACE. 


His second duty is to have a proper regard for 
the honest prejudices of his readers, their instinctive 
sympathies, their knowledge of life, founded on 
observation and experience, and above all for their 
conscientious moral convictions. 

Therefore, besides offering them only works of 
real excellence, he should never hesitate to make, 
even in such works, all those minor changes, 
omissions, additions, and other improvements that 
he may deem indispensably necessary for securing 
two very essential objects : 

1. To preserve all through that air of vraisem- 
blance or perfect reality which every work of fiction 
should possess, but in which foreign writers are 
peculiarly liable to fail when treating of names, 
places and minor events in countries with which 
they cannot be familiar. 

2. To show the highest possible respect for the 
delicate moral sense of conscientious readers, not 
by affected and foolish prudery, but by^ carefully 
avoiding whatever might be construed into a coarse 
allusion, an unbecoming expression, or a profane 
levity. 

With these precautions, the translation of some 
Continental novels ought to become a valuable 
addition to our present English stock, in which, 
notwithstanding its enormous dimensions, there is 
still left plenty of room for good ones. 


PREFACE. 


3 


What is the best proof of the goodness of a 
novel? What is the best test of the goodness 
of exciting amusement of any kind? Unquestion- 
ably, its after effects. their fruits, ye shall 

know them.** If, after the perusal of a novel — no 
matter of how powerful, entertaining, absorbing, or 
stimulating a nature — ^we find ourselves unhappy, 
restless, craving after excitement, disposed to shirk 
our duties, doubting God*s watchful Providence — 
then that novel is bad — we have been drinking 
poisoned champagne ! 

Judged by this test, a large number of the Jane 
Eyre style of English novels must be condemned 
as decidedly unhealthy. 

Many French and German novels, are still more 
objectionable. Their vivacity, wit, and grace of 
style — in which the former especially far surpass the 
often slipshod English school — their dramatic power, 
their intimate knowledge of their own world, their 
naturalness, their curious morality,** even their 
exaggerated refinement of high toned honor,** 
render them only doubly dangerous, and in the eye 
of an anxious parent doubly detestable. 

Still, even the most spoiled and petted favorites 
of the Continental public seem to yield occasionally 
to the consciousness of better instincts. In the 
midst of a polluted stream of productions in which 
every obligation, human and divine, seems com- 


4 


PREFACE. 


pletely ignored, there turns up, every now and then, 
a work of unequivocal merit, a truthful and refresh- 
ing sketch of interesting life and manners, an almost 
faultless gem, which, in the hands of a conscientious 
and judicious translator, could be rendered — even if 
at the expense of some of its original brilliancy — 
completely free from all offensive blemish. 

Such works are by no means rare in Continental 
Literature, and it is of them that the present volume 
is now presented to the American Public, as a 
specimen. The CniTEAU Morville’* does not 
pretend to be the best of its class, but by its liveli- 
ness, freshness, heartiness, freedom from crime, the 
honesty and simplicity of its story, the general 
healthiness of its tone — not to mention the ex- 
cellent lessons it gives to parents — it strongly 
recommends itself as a good average sample. 

It is for the Public to determine how soon the 
other volumes of the Morville Series are to appear. 


CONT ENTS 


PART I. 

THE ARRIVAL. 


Chapter. Page. 

I. THE DILIGENCE OFFICE, 9 

II. THE PARENTS, 33 

III. THE PUPIL, 49 

IV. THE RICH UNCLE, 59 

V. THE DEBATE, 73 

VI. THE GOVERNESS, . 90 


VH. A DOUBTFUL FRIEND; AND A DECIDED ENEMY, 104 
VIII. FIRST EXPERIENCES AND FIRST IMPRESSIONS, 120 


PART II. 

LIFE AT THE ChAtEAU. 

Chapter, Page. 

I. SORCERY. CORRESPONDENCE, 133 

II. A SECRET SUFFERER — ^AN EVENING LESSON, . 157 

III. EVERY DAY LIFE, 177 

IV. THE FETE, 194 

V. A NEW PUPIL, 216 

VI. THE SUITOR, 228 


( 5 ) 


6 


CONTENTS, 


PART III. 

COMPLICATIONS. 

Chapter. Page. 

I. THE PAVILION OF THE ROCKS, 241 

II . MADAME PIVOLET, 252 

III. BROTHER AND SISTER, 265 

IV. THEODORE DE FAVROLLE, 281 

V. JOHN WELSH, 289 

VI. MONSIEUR DE MORVILLE, 302 

VH. MADAME DE MORVILLE. PIVOLET EXPLODES 

HER CATASTROPHE, 31 1 

VHI. THE LION BEARDED IN HIS DEN, .... 323 

IX. MORE VISITORS AT THE DEN, 338 

X. ALPHONSINE, 346 

XI. all’s well that ENDS WELL, 356 


I 


PART I 


THE ARRIVAL 



CHAPTER I. 


THE DILIGENCE OFFICE. 

In the year 1840, towards the beginning of Sep- 
tember, long before the time of railroads in that part 
of France, several travellers assembled in the Dili- 
gence Office at Calais, were waiting for the hour of 
starting for Paris. 

A young lady, over twenty years of age, with a face 
remarkably pretty, full of distinction and of an ex- 
pression at once sweet, timid and melancholy, was 
seated in a corner of the room, a carpet bag in her 
lap, and a little leather travelling trunk at her feet. 
She wore a straw bonnet trimmed with pink and by 
no means concealing the silky locks of her light chest- 
nut hair, and she was wrapped up in an ample shawl 
of Scotch plaid. 

Two young gentlemen, very good looking, elegantly 
dressed, wearing caps and holding valise in hand, 
stood near our young traveller, talking in a low voice, 
and from their glances, fuller of admiration than 
respect, evidently making her the subject of their 
conversation. This must have been of a very lively 
nature, to judge from their frequent smiles and bursts 
of laughter, which, however, they took some pains to 
suppress. Near them stood a man about fifty years of 
age, but still strong and hearty. His face closely 
shaved, except two little whiskers where the gray al- 
2 (9) 


10 


THE CHA tea U MOR VJLLE; 


most effaced the red, his white cravat tied with a large 
knot, his long red-striped waistcoat, his black short 
coat, his drab breeches and gaiters of the same color, 
his walking stick, the scrupulous neatness of his gar- 
ments, all gave him the externals of an English coach- 
man, belonging to a respectable family, when he has 
quitted his livery. He understood French, for at one 
of the free and easy remarks of the young men, he 
turned round, colored, and cast his eyes on our young 
traveller, who was so evidently the object of their al- 
lusions. Just then they quitted the office, and one 
said to the other, smiling : 

‘‘Well, now, I think that rather conceited.’* 

“ Poh ! She’s good looking enough, but I’m sure 
she’s only a chambermaid, going to seek her fortune 
in Paris.” 

“ No matter, I’m certain of winning the bet.” 

“ And so am I.” 

They went away. 

The young girl, dejected and thoughtful, had paid 
no attention to the remarks of the young men ; she 
was awakened from her reverie by an exclamation 
from the man with the short coat and drab gaiters, 
who, approaching her with the expression of one who 
cannot believe his eyes, cried out in English : 

“ God bless us and save us ! is it you, Miss Mary ? ” 

And he took off his hat with an air of the most 
profound respect. 

“John Welsh ! ” said the young girl, no less sur- 
prised. “You here, John! I thought you were in 
Paris,” and she shook his hand most cordially. 

“I’m just come from there. Miss Mary. But is all 
the family here with you in France ? ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


11 


‘‘ No, John. My father, mother and sisters are in 
Dublin. I’m going to Paris all alone.” 

‘‘You’re going to Paris all alone — you! Miss 
Mary ! ” 

John looked at her with increasing wonder and 
uneasiness. 

A little smile hovered on her lips, and she replied : 

“ My dear John, I can speak to you in the fullest 
confidence. You have been one of the oldest and 
most faithful servants in our family. You have known 
me when a child.” 

“Indeed have I, Miss Mary. You were a dawney 
little creature, hardly three years old, when I led you 
around the paddock on old Sawney, the Shetland 
pony’s back, while your father. Squire O’Connor, 
held you on the saddle. ’ ’ 

“ Well, John, my father has been completely ruined 
by a series of misfortunes, but more particularly by 
the failure of a friend, for whom he was bound, to 
meet his engagement. Clara Cottage, Ballykile, and 
everything else has been sold. My father paid every 
demand to his very;, last shilling, and he has now no 
means of supporting himself and the family, except a 
poor clerkship which a friend obtained for him in the 
Bank of Ireland, Dublin. I have come to this coun- 
try to be a governess. I have been so fortunate as to 
obtain this situation through the good offices of the 
Consul of France, whom my father had intimately 
known in happier days.” 

“ Good Heavens I what do you say. Miss Mary? ” 
exclaimed John, wringing his hands and wiping his 
eyes. “ Your father. Squire O’Connor, ruined, Clara 
Cottage sold, Ballykile gone I Poor old Faugh-a^ 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


12 

ballagh, his favorite hunter, and Black Hawk, the 
darlinest' bit of thorough-bred in the country, that I 
raised and trained for your own dear self. Miss Mary 
— all sold ! The Lord be good to us ! — ^And the car- 
riage horses, and the farm horses, and the Durham 
cows, and the Southdowns, and the fat pigs, and the 
hare-hounds — all sold ! The cross of Christ around 
us, I can’t believe it. Squire O’Connor ruined, one 
of the richest gentlemen farmers in the county Kil- 
kenny ! Oh ! Miss Mary, say it’s not true ! Sure 
you were always so fond of joking,” and the poor 
fellow strove to smile in his tears. 

‘‘It is too true, John. I could hardly believe it 
myself at first, no more than you ; but, courage and 
resignation came at last.” 

“ And you have to travel alone, my darling Miss 
Mary? Is it possible? All alone in this strange 
country, without even a chambermaid ? ’ ’ 

“ My mother and my sisters are their own chamber- 
maids now: I must be mine, John. — But, I thought 
you were settled in Paris.” 

“ Oh ! Miss Mary, I could not have better luck 
for not following the Squire’s advice. Sorry I am 
for leaving his service, even if the legacy that came 
to me from America was twice as big. Hard fortune 
on the day I ever left Ireland to go to Paris with my 
uncle Toby to deal in Irish horses. Those French 
are not like our own people, and luck was against us 
anyhow. Our speculation failed completely. I’m 
as poor a man now as ever I was. I’m quitting 
France forever ; and do you know where I was facing 
when I met you ? Why, straight back to Clara Cot- 
tage — no less, to enter the Squire’s service once more. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


IS 


and never to leave it again, with the blessing of God. 
ril never forget his last words to me, as he walked 
along with us down the avenue. Och ! ^tis he was 
the kind master ; not a bit of pride about him no 
more than about yourself. Miss Mary.— ‘ John,* says 
he, ‘you’re too honest a man to be a horse-dealer. 
Mind this — you’ll be cheated out of all your little 
legacy. But as you have been a faithful servant, I 
may say a true friend, here for more than twenty 
years, never forget that the doors of Clara Cottage 
are always open to you, and no one shall be ever 
there more welcome than you.’ And he took my 
hand. Miss Mary, and shook it like a brother’s. 
And to think if I went there now I should only see 
cold, strange faces ; not even a dog would know me. 
Miss Mary, the sight of the desolation would break 
my heart ! ’ ’ 

“Don’t be uneasy, John. An honest, intelligent 
man like you can find a good situation readily.” 

“ Oh ! Miss Mary, that is not what troubles me. 
It is your long journey from here to Paris in a coach, 
where you will be all alone, — you that never quitted 
your mother’s side.” 

“I have told you already, John, that courage as 
well as resignation came with our misfortunes.” 

“ Oh ! Miss Mary, if I had only money enough to 
pay my fare to Paris, I would ask your permission to 
accompany you to your destination. In Paris I 
could easily get a situation as groom or stable boy, 
and so earn enough to take me back to Ireland.” 

“ John, you’re a kind and worthy man. I am very 
much touched with your devotion. I thank you with 
all my heart.” 


the chAteau MORVILLE: 

Out of the three hundred pounds of my Ameri- 
can legacy, I have only thirty shillings left, which 
will hardly take me to London, where, however, I 
have plenty of friends. I wish I could go along 
with you. Miss Mary.’* 

'‘You see, John, it is quite impossible. My purse 
is hardly bigger than yours, and I have to go to 
Touraine, far beyond Paris.” 

" Oh ! murder. Miss Mary, how can I leave you 
here all alone? If I had only the satisfaction of 
telling Squire O’Connor that I had seen you landed 
safe and sound in the house you’re going to ! But,” 
exclaimed the poor fellow still more sorrowfully, 
" misfortune never comes alone ! — ^And the Captain, 
Miss Mary, you have not said a word about Cap- 
tain O’Reilly.” 

The young girl blushed, and suppressed a sigh : 
her sweet face showed much inward pain as she said 
in a broken voice : — 

" Oh ! Captain O’Reilly is to return from the East 
Indies in two years. We heard from him lately ; he is 
in great danger, for the Afghans are terrible enemies. ’ ’ 

" Never fear him, Miss Mary. He’s sure to come 
back safe to old Ireland, perhaps even before the two 
years. And then every one knows the first thing 
he’ll do will be to marry his own sweet Miss Mary, 
that’s promised to him ever so long ago. Won’t I 
be the happy man on the day of the wedding ! ’ ’ 

"That wedding can never take place, John. I 
am now too poor and too proud to think of marrying 
Captain O’Reilly.” 

Then, feeling the subject of conversation to be 
too painful, the young girl stopped a moment. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. X5 

wiped a tear from her eyes, and resumed in a calmer 
voice : 

am very happy indeed to have met you, John. 
If you go to Dublin you can tell the family that you 
found me well and in good spirits at the moment of 
my departure from Calais . ' ’ 

‘‘ Ah ! Miss Mary, to travel thus all alone — that’s 
what terrifies me.” 

‘‘Why so? There’s nothing terrible in the 
journey. I’m alone, it is true, but so have I been 
all the way from Dublin, and I have found little 
reason to complain of my companions.” 

“Oh! in England, yes; for people there are 
accustomed to see young ladies travel alone, every 
day.” 

“Of course, and I have always heard that in 
France nothing is more respected than a lone, unpro- 
tected woman.” 

“Ah! Miss Mary,” cried John, sighing and 
thinking of the talk and the wager of the two young 
men, “ if you only knew — I don’t understand French 
very well, but I know it well enough to understand 
certain things.” 

“ What do you mean, John? ” 

At this moment, and while Miss Mary and the old 
servant continued their conversation in a low voice 
at the further end of the hall, a new traveller 
entered, noisily, out of breath, jostling every one out 
of his way, and abusing a porter for his laziness, 
though the poor creature was on the point of 
dropping under the weight of a trunk, two carpet 
bags, a hat-box, and four or five great brown paper 
parcels, which it was a miracle for one man to con- 


16 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


trive to carry at all. The new comer was stout and 
short, of sixty, or thereabouts, with a face so 
snappish and crabbed in its character that its expres- 
sion bordered on the ridiculous. He was closely 
followed by four young men, much less elegantly 
dressed than the two already spoken of, whose jokes 
had so irritated honest John Welsh. They had all 
just come from a copious breakfast, and the bright- 
ness of their cheeks, the sparkling of their eyes, the 
hysterical character of their voices, their frequent 
bursts of loud laughter, as well as certain swaying, 
involuntary motions of their bodies, testified pretty 
plainly that they were rather tipsy. 

‘‘What a pity my jolly tars,’’ exclaimed one of 
them, “that we must be separated from here to Paris, 
two of us being in the interior^ and two in the 
rotonde^ of the diligence.” 

“ My resources do not permit me the luxury of a 
seat in the mterior, ’ ’ replied another. ‘ ‘ I open a 
national subscription to engineer a tunnel from the 
rotonde to the interior, so that we can discuss matters 
at our ease during the journey.” 

“Hurrah for the grand national subscription to 
demolish the interior cried his companions: “car- 
ried unanimously ! ” 

“ Hey, fellows ! ” cried another of the crowd in a 
low voice, “ twig this old cove ! Admire his furred 
boots ! and, good Lord ! what a sweet, sweet, face ! ’ ’ 
“ What fun it would be for Tournaquin and me if 
we could only have him along with us in the interior T ’ 
“ There’s no exhausting such a face as that ! ” 

“ A source of endless amusement.” 


* The front and back parts of the vehicle. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


17 


‘‘I open a national subscription to haze him at 
every table d'h^e along the road. He’s just the cus- 
tomer to like it.” 

Yes, old boy, come along with us if you’re up 
for fun. We’re the fellows that’ll put you through. ’ ’ 

In the meantime the old gentleman approached 
the office, and in a loud voice now opened a conver- 
sation with the clerk, to which our four gay young 
friends listened with an increasing interest. 

‘‘I sent a servant from my hotel an hour ago to 
engage a place for me.” 

‘‘For what destination, sir? ” 

“What destination! Farbleu — for Botardiere, of 
course. ’ ’ 

“ I don’t know where Botardiere is, sir.” 

“ How, sir ! ” exclaimed the old gentleman, wroth 
at the clerk’s geographical ignorance. “ That’s a 
pretty thing to acknowledge. Botardiere, sir, is at 
Botardiere, as Paris is at Paris. I repeat it, sir, an 
hour ago a servant came from my hotel to engage a 
place for me in the diligence that is about to start for 
Paris, whence I shall take the Tours diligence to get 
to Botardiere.” 

The word Botardiere seemed to take the fancy of 
the four young men, for every time it was repeated 
they greeted it with such plaudits and laughter that 
at last the old gentleman turned round at them, fear- 
fully knitting his eyebrows. With one accord, they 
immediately gave him the military salute with great 
solemnity, smiling at him with much graciousness. 
He immediately turned back to the clerk, grumb- 
ling and muttering and hardly able to contain his 
rage. 


18 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


The latter, having consulted his book, observed: — 
‘‘ Yes, sir, it is true ; an hour ago I received earn- 
est for the sixth place, the only one remaining in the 
interior, ' * 

How ! shall I not have the right hand corner in 
the back seat ? — I protest I shall take no other. ’ ’ 
‘‘Impossible, sir, there is only one left, and that is 
the sixth. * * 

“What? the place on the front seat, with my back 
to the horses? Do you think I’m a fool?” 

“ Well, sir, you are not obliged to go at all : but, 
of course, you forfeit the earnest.” 

“ What extortion ! a regular swindle 1 such treat- 
ment of travellers ! But stop — ^are there any women 
in the carriage ? ’ ’ 

“ One lady, only.” 

“Better and better! That crowns the joke! 
When she’s cold, up with the windows ! When she’s 
warm, down with them ! At table she’s to be helped 
first, and with the best bits, too ! Every nonsensical 
whim of hers to be humored. Then we’re told not 
to go at all. We’re only to lose our earnest. What 
kindness ! What kind of a den have I got into 5 
Nice journey ! Delightful beginning ! Brilliant 
prospect ! — Without at all taking into consideration 
the pleasure of having to put up with all sorts of com • 
pany, and God knows,” added the irascible old gen- 
tleman, flinging a side glance at the four young men 
who were watching him as a cat watches a mouse, 
“ God knows the kind of companions one is exposed 
to now-a-days in a public conveyance. ’ ’ 

“ Sir, will you take the place, yes or no? ” 

“I will take it, sir. Must I not get to Botar- 


OR, LIFE IN rOURAINE. 


19 


diere? Yes, sir, I will take it since I’m forced to it, 
with the dagger to my throat, under pain of losing 
my earnest. But, sir, I take it under protest. And 
I also hope, sir, that some one of my companions 
will be well bred enough, respectful enough, to a 
man of my years, not to allow me with my gray hairs 
to travel in a public conveyance with my back to the 
horses. ’ ’ 

^‘Arrange that as you please, sir, with the other 
travellers. Your name, if you please? ” 

Edward Joseph De Botardiere, proprietor of the 
chateau Botardiere, commune of Botardiere.” 

Scarcely had the old gentleman given his name and 
residence, which he did in a very pompous manner, 
when the four merry youths, who, thanks to his loud 
angry voice, had not lost a word of the conversation, - 
again burst into a general cachinnation, which they 
pretended they almost choked themselves in trying 
to suppress ; but the proprietor of the chateau Botar- 
diere scowled at them with a withering glance, paid 
his fare, and stalked majestically away. 

‘‘Edward Joseph is superb,” cried one. — “ I don’t 
want to lose the pleasure of Edward Joseph’s com- 
pany. It will be a delicious treat.” 

“ I open a national subscription to pin a paper tail 
to Edward Joseph’s coat.” 

“I’ll take a thousand shares if you print Botardiere 
on it in large legible letters.” 

And out they started, arm in arm, sliding on their 
toes, swinging their bodies and chanting by way of 
chorus : 

** Good, good, good, for Botardiere ! 

Good, good, good, for Botardifere 1’* 


20 CHA TEA U MOR VILLE ; 

Those mad fellows had hardly disappeared when 
our two acquaintances of the wager returned to the 
office. 

During the preceding scene, Miss Mary, seeing 
with what kind of companions she was to travel to 
Paris, had held an earnest conversation in a low voice 
with John Welsh. She grew more and more saddened 
and distressed ; but all at once she seemed to take a 
decisive resolution, though sorely against her will, 
and she slowly approached the young man whose 
remarks had excited John’s anger. 

In spite of his levity, so apparent from the nature 
of his remarks regarding a poor unprotected stranger, 
this young gentleman, as well as his friend, seemed 
to belong to the best society ; his countenance was 
very agreeable and his appearance most distinguished. 
Addressing him , then in excellent French, Miss Mary 
said, with a mixture of embarrassment, sweetness, 
and dignity that gave a most touching expression to 
her beautiful face : 

Sir, will you have the kindness to grant me one 
moment’s conversation ? ” 

The young man, very much surprised and still more 
delighted at such a proposal, cast his friend a triumph- 
ant glance ; then, bowing low to the young girl, he 
followed her a few steps to a window where John was 
standing. 

The young gentleman was at first rather discon- 
certed at seeing a third party take share in his con- 
versation with the pretty stranger, and particularly a 
third party wearing a coachman’s gaiters. But on 
reflecting that the young Englishwoman was only a 
chambermaid seeking her fortune, he thought it but 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


21 


natural after all that she should be under the protec- 
tion, as it were, of the man with the gaiters. How- 
ever, bowing again to Miss Mary, he said : 

Madam, I am only too happy to place myself 
under your orders. ’ ’ 

Sir, I have not the honor of being known to you 
— but, relying on French generosity, I come to de- 
mand a favor of you, sir — ^a very great favor. ^ * 

Madam, dispose of me,’* replied the young man, 
who began to remark that, for a chambermaid, the 
young Miss expressed herself admirably well in 
French, and with remarkable elegance, too. 

‘‘Sir,” resumed Mary, “I am an Irishwoman. 
Reverses of fortune have befallen my family, among 
whom this worthy and excellent servant,” pointing 
to John, “has lived for twenty years, and have 
placed me under the necessity of accepting in France 
the situation of governess. I am going to Paris, 
alone, in a public conveyance. This long journey 
would not disquiet me in the least, if all the gentle- 
men destined to be my companions were as well bred 
as I doubt not you are, sir ; but, unfortunately, people 
are too often met with who never suspect how pain- 
ful, and consequently how worthy of respectful treat- 
ment, is the position of a young girl quitting for the 
first time her father’s house, and obliged to travel 
alone in a foreign land.” 

“Mademoiselle,” said the reckless young man, 
more and more surprised and confused, “I don’t 
suppose that a man exists miserable enough to be 
wanting in respect towards you.” 

“ I know, sir, that a woman can in the end always 
succeed in making herself respected by no matter 


THE ChA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


whom; but such an extreme is so humiliating, so 
cruel to a well constituted heart, that I should be 
sorry to see myself reduced to it. Accordingly, sir, 
I address myself to you, though the service I expect 
from your honor and loyalty must no doubt appear 
rather singular.’’ 

Only speak. Mademoiselle,” replied the young 
man, completely subdued by the touching dignity of 
her words, will be too happy to render you any 
service in my power, no matter what. ’ ’ 

There are to be six of us in the carriage in 
which we are going to travel ; I am the only woman. 
Permit me, sir, tp pass for your sister till we get to 
Paris. I speak French well enough to render this 
pretended relationship not improbable. Consent to 
this, sir, be generous, and I declare to you with our 
old Irish frankness that I shall be eternally grateful 
for your kindness. This faithful servant, in whose 
presence I make the request, shall then be able to 
tell my father and mother that my journey in France 
has commenced prosperously.” 

There was in this language, in this slightly foreign 
accent, which gave it a new charm, something so 
ingenuous, so loyal, that the young man, affected, 
deeply touched by this appeal made to his heart, re- 
proaching himself most sincerely with the previous 
lightness, not to say dishonor, of his conduct, replied 
to Miss Mary, in a respectful and feeling tone : 

‘‘lam too much flattered, Mademoiselle, by the 
confidence with which you deign to honor me not to 
try to make myself worthy of it. I promise to act 
the part of your brother as well as I possibly can 
until our arrival at Paris.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, S3 

From the emotion so visible on the features of the 
young man, Miss Mary could not but believe him 
sincere. She replied then with an expression of 
touching gratitude : 

Sir, if you have your mother still living, if you 
have a sister, tell them on your return what you have 
done to-day for a stranger. They will love you the‘ 
more for it.” 

And Miss Mary, with that cordial frankness which 
forms such a striking feature of the Irish character, 
presented to the young man her little gloved hand, 
saying, Thank you, sir, thank you. Miss O’Con- 
nor believes in your word.” 

^‘And Miss O’Connor,” replied the young man, 
slightly touching with his lips the hand of the 
foreigner, may rest fully assured that Theodore de 
Favrolle has never broken his promise.” 

Oh ! thank you my good gentleman, and may 
God bless you,” cried John, in his queer French, 
greatly affected by the scene. 

Gentlemen and ladies, prepare to get aboard,” 
said one of the employes. 

‘‘ My good kind John,” said Miss Mary, in English, 
to the old servant, whilst Monsieur De Favrolle, 
discreetly withdrawing, rejoined his friend, of 
course you will return to Dublin?” 

^‘O, yes. Miss Mary, I’ll go there anyhow,” said 
John, whose eyes began to moisten. 

As soon as you arrive, go see my father, John. 
He was so uneasy, so miserable at the thought of 
letting me set out alone, that he would have accom- 
panied me himself, only the expense of the journey 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


would have deprived my poor mother and sisters of 
food for a month.” ' 

Here the poor fellow fairly burst out a crying. 
^‘Oh! the Cross of Christ about us,” he sobbed, 
Miss Mary, don’t talk that way or you’ll break my 
heart. Your mother and sisters that used to roll in 
their carriages, and that fed more poor people than 
the Union Poorhouse ever did, to be left without 
food ! Oh ! may the Holy Saviour protect us ! sure 
it isn’t come to that ? ” 

Yes, John, it is come to that; and now the best 
thing we can do is to look at our misfortunes right 
straight in the face. You can tell my father of the 
proposal I have made to one of my travelling com- 
panions. It was, I think, the best thing I could do, 
if I’m to believe what you told me, John, although 
your slight acquaintance with the French language 
may have misled you as to the precise meaning of 
the gentleman’s words.” 

Oh ! I don’t think I am mistaken at all. Miss 
Mary ; but I can now see very plainly that he has 
repented, on learning by your language that you are 
a lady. I hope he’ll only keep his promise, for those 
other young fellows that follow the old gentleman, 
singing, laughing and dancing, make me very uneasy 
about you. — Why not wait till to-morrow? ” 

Finding myself to be the only woman in the car- 
riage, I had thought of that ; but all the seats for to- 
morrow and after to-morrow are taken, and I should 
have to remain here for three days longer. And the 
hotel-living is a little too expensive for my light 
purse,” she added with a sweet smile. ‘H have just 
enough of money to take me to my place of destination 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


and no more. But don’t be alarmed, John, those 
wild young fellows that are laughing and singing are, 
rather silly than wicked, and in any case M. De 
Favrolle will protect me from them. My request 
has been a little too bold perhaps — but that my father 
and mother shall decide. You will tell them, John, 
that you have seen me in good health at Calais. 
Assure them that I am full of courage and resigna- 
tion. Tell them also that I will write to them from 
the first town where we shall stop for any time. Tell 
Kate, Eveleen, and Annie that their sister Mary is 
always thinking about them — and as for little Ellie” 
— ^and the young girl tried to smile as she dried her 
eyes, — ‘^tell her to be a good girl and that her big 
sister Mary will send her a pretty doll from France 
for a Christmas gift — though, John, I shall be miser- 
able enough when that holy season comes round which 
is so much beloved and venerated in our dear native 
land.” 

‘‘Oh! Miss Mary, can I ever forget the grand 
Christmas times at Clara Cottage ? The midnight 
Mass in the little chapel, the grand dinner in the 
dining-room for the grand folks from the city, and 
the mistletoe and the holly, and the ivy in the 
drawing-room, and the beautiful tree in the nursery, 
hung with candles and toys and things for the chil- 
dren, and the plum-puddings, and barrels of ale in 
the kitchen, free and welcome to everybody that 
came along, and the poorer the welcomerl” 

“Thesq happy times are gone forever, John, and 
it is as good to forget them. — Tell them all, in short, 
that, though far away from them in body, Mary is 
always present with them in spirit — and — ^and — * * 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 

‘^And you’re going to live like a servant in a 
strange Jiouse!” John burst out, unable to restrain 
his feelings. You a servant, my darling Miss Mary ! 
Oh! it can’t be true! — When I think on the last 
time I saw you at Clara Cottage ! You were cantering 
along on your splendid colt. Black Hawk, between 
the squire and Captain O’Reilly, so gay and so 
happy, while your mother and sisters followed in the 
green phaeton, drawn by the splendid grey horses, 
Farragh and Tearaway, little Bobby Grace, the pos- 
tillion, driving them. It was a beautiful morning 
in July, and you were going to join a picnic to be 
held near the waterfall at Kilfane. ’ ’ 

I shall never regret those times, John, if I can 
some day return to my dear father and mother and 
make them feel less unhappy. But, do you know, 
John, what I feel the most after the agony of leaving 
my family? It is to leave green Erin, our dear old 
Ireland ! Oh ! I never felt until yesterday how much 
I loved that dear, sweet, good land ! ’ ’ 

‘^Gentlemen and ladies, all aboard!” cried one 
of the clerks ; time is up ; look alive ! ” 

And seeing Miss Mary’s little trunk still at her 
feet, he added roughly — 

‘‘ But, madam, your baggage should have been put 
up on the roof long ago. What are you thinking 
about ? ” 

Excuse me, sir,” said Miss Mary, a little con- 
fused, I did not know that.” 

At the man’s rough exclamation, John’s face had 
become as red with anger as a gamecock’s comb. 
Off went his coat like lightning, and he was advan- 
cing towards the clerk with decidedly hostile intent. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


27 


when, fortunately, a glance from Miss Mary rendered 
him as meek as a lamb, and without saying a word, 
he took the trunk on his shoulder and awaited orders. 

At this moment M. De Favrolle approached the 
young girl with redoubled courtesy and respect, 
saying : 

‘‘ I should be sorry. Mademoiselle, to abuse the 
privileges of my part, but, for outward effect, I think 
it would be well if you did me the honor of accep- 
ting my arm.^’ 

‘‘Certainly, sir,** said Miss Mary, smiling; “I 
accept it with pleasure.” 

Then the young man presented his friend, saying : 

“ I have been obliged. Mademoiselle, to take my 
companion into our confidence. Permit me to in- 
troduce him : M. George De Montfort.** 

M. De Montfort bowed respectfully to Miss Mary, 
who returned his salute, and all three, followed by 
John Welsh, repaired to the yard where the diligence 
was waiting for them. 

M. De Favrolle gave his hand to Miss Mary to 
help her into the carriage after she had taken her 
last leave of John. The poor servant, with tears 
streaming down his cheeks, said to the young gentle- 
man, in his bad French and with a broken voice : 

“Oh, sir! have a careful eye over Miss Mary, I 
beg of you. Her father. Squire O’Connor, was one 
of the richest gentlemen in the country. He had 
the most splendid horses in his stable, all of the 
purest Irish blood, and a pack of sixty beagles, and 
as for the greyhounds and the pointers, there was no 
end of them. You see that Miss Mary is a real lady, 
and deserves every attention. ’ ’ 


23 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


However artless John Welshes recommendation 
might appear, viewing as he did all things from a 
huntsman’s point of view, and expressing his regrets 
accordingly, still it was not without its effect. We 
are all so formed that the more exalted the state of 
opulence from which we hear one has fallen, the 
deeper interest we take in his misfortunes. 

M. De Favrolle replied to John; 

‘‘ Don’t be uneasy, my worthy man. I shall per- 
form towards Miss Mary all the duties of a brother, 
the most devoted and the most respectful.” 

The young man did not expect, in saying this, that 
he should be so soon called upon to protect his 
‘‘sister;” but, just then, he saw her putting her 
head out of the window and saying to the Conductor, 
with a smile : 

“ Did you not tell me, sir, that my place is on the 
back seat in the right hand corner ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, Madam.” 

“ But, sir, that place is occupied by a gentleman 
already fast asleep. Any place is all the same to me, 
only I’m afraid of occupying in my turn some one 
else’s.” 

And she quitted the carriage, while the Conductor 
entered it, and all outside distinctly heard the fol- 
lowing dialogue : 

“ Sir ! ” said the Conductor, “ Mr. Traveller ! that 
is not your place ! It is a lady’s ! Hey, down there. 
Answer ! ’ ’ 

“Take care what you’re about, Conductor. — Ed- 
ward Joseph is slumbering ! ” 

“I open a national subscription to kiss his old 
forehead while he’s asleep ! ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


29 


‘‘Hello! He’s deaf, I believe,” cried the Con- 
ductor. “Wake him up, gentlemen, if you please. 
It is time to start.” 

“ Conductor, do you authorize us to wake up Ed- 
ward Joseph for the benefit of the public? ” 

“ Certainly, gentlemen, wake him up, and let us 
be done with this.” 

The two mad fellows immediately commenced to 
bellow with all the force of their lungs. 

“ Fire I Botardiere is on fire I Fi — ar 1 ” 

“ Edward Joseph, hear the shrieks 1 ” 

“Joseph Edward, listen to the yells ! ” 

“ Edward Joseph, open your dear little eyes ! ” 
“Joseph Edward, don’t you know my voi-i-i-ce ! ” 
“Sir, excuse me,” said Miss Mary to her pre- 
tended brother, for the young man, very much an- 
noyed at those preludes of a stormy journey, began 
to knit his brows; “Excuse me, but I repeat, any 
place at all is the same to me. I should be sorry to 
be the cause of the least dispute. ’ * 

But M. De Favrolle jumped at once into the car- 
riage, and found the proprietor of Botardiere en- 
trenched in the corner behind a fortress of cloaks, 
carpet-bags, and parcels, leaving nothing visible but 
the top of his head covered with a black silk skull 
cap pulled down to his eyes, and topped with a 
travelling cap. Notwithstanding the frightful din 
that raged around him, and the piercing cries enter- 
ing his very ear^, the old boy seemed to be fast asleep, 
and a long snore resounded in his nostrils. M. De 
Favrolle, to put an end to this ridiculous scene, at 
first shook the old gentleman very gently, and at last 
so impatiently as to effectually prevent the pretended 


so 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


sleeper from carrying on the sham any longer. He 
started up like a man suddenly awoke out of his sleep, 
and exclaimed in an angry voice : 

‘‘It is perfectly inconceivable that any one should 
take the liberty of disturbing me in this manner. 
Who is it that dares to disturb my repose ? * * 

And addressing M. De Favrolle : 

“What do you want, sir? I don^t know you.** 
And pulling down his skull-cap further over his 
eyes, he nestled himself in the corner for another 
sleep, grumbling : 

“It is perfectly intolerable ! ** 

“Sir,** replied M. De Favrolle, commencing with 
the greatest coolness to remove the luggage and pile 
it on the other seat, an operation that compelled the 
obstinate usurper to open his eyes whether he would 
or not — “Sir, I have the honor to observe tfhat you 
occupy my sister’s place, but I have no doubt that 
you are perfectly ready to surrender it to its owner. ’ * 
The sudden appearance of M. De Favrolle in the 
carriage, and the polite firmness of his language 
.when speaking of his sister, calmed a little the 
exuberant spirits of the funny young men, whilst M. 
De Botardiere exclaimed, addressing Miss Mary’s 
protector : 

“Sir, by what right do you pretend to lay hands 
on my luggage? I am the first occupant of this 
place, so much the worse for those who have come 
too late. I keep my corner, sir. My gray hair 
authorizes me in doing so. ’ * 

“ No one respects gray hair more than I do, sir,” 
said M. De Favrolle ; “ but I have the honor to repeat 
to you that that place belongs to my sister. You 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $1 

will then have the goodness to quit this corner, sir ; 
for I declare to you, sir, with all my regard for a 
gentleman of your age, that if you refuse to do jus- 
tice to my demand, I shall be compelled, to my great 
regret, to employ force.’* 

^‘Cursed journey!” exclaimed the cross-grained 
old fellow, rising up furiously. ‘‘ Oh 1 when shall I 
get to Botardiere ? ’ ’ 

Ma foi," M. De Favrolle could not help observ- 
ing, ‘‘we are all as sincere as you, in wishing you 
there with all our heart.” Then, turning towards 
the persecutors of the old gentleman, he addressed 
them in the most cordial tone : 

“ Gentlemen, I am accompanying my young sister. 
Permit me to hope from your courtesy a slight mod- 
eration of language during the journey. I shall be 
profoun’dly grateful for the favor.” 

“ Why not, sir? Certainly,” said one of the young 
men. “All right. Respect for the ladies is our 
motto 1 ’ ’ 

“We should expect the same thing of you,” 
observed the other, “ if we had a sister along. Rest 
easy on the subject, sir. We like our fun, but we 
know how to respect a young lady. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, gentlemen, thank you,” replied M. 
De Favrolle, “ I expected no less from your kindness. ’ ’ 
And quitting the carriage, he handed Miss Mary 
into it, who, very much regretting this little incident, 
took her seat in the corner on the right. Her pre- 
tended brother seated himself beside her, with his 
friend in front. Just as the young girl waved a last 
adieu to John, who stood a little distance off, wiping 
his eyes, the diligence set off briskly, whilst one of 


32 the chA tea U MOR VILLE : 

the funny fellows of the rotonde, popping his head 
out of the window, cried in a falsetto voice : 

What the deuce are you about, postillion? Why 
don’t you push on? I believe in my heart and soul 
I shall never get to Botardiere ! ’ ’ 

The hasty step taken by Miss Mary on the spur of 
the moment, though impulsive, was natural and, con- 
sidering the circumstances, almost justifiable. But 
omitting all questions regarding its strict correctness, 
it was a course by no means expedient, and one 
which an older traveller would have very carefully 
avoided. As it was, it could hardly fail to produce 
some unpleasant consequences, and in fact soon led 
Miss Mary and all concerned into serious and trouble- 
some complications. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


S3 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE PARENTS. 

Monsieur and Madame De Morville, owners of a 
beautiful property in Touraine, in the picturesque 
valley of the Indre, not far from Loches, had been 
residing there for several years. M. De Morville, 
formerly a cavalry officer of high grade, was forty-five 
years of age, and had a mild, noble and still agreea- 
ble countenance, though its extreme paleness showed 
that he did not enjoy very good health. In fact, one 
of his old wounds often re-opened and caused him 
very painful sufferings, which he carefully concealed 
from his wife. That lady, a few years younger than 
M. De Morville, was not pretty, but the vivacity 
and pleasing expression of her face, fully made up 
for its want of beauty. 

One morning, about a week after Miss O’Connor 
had left Calais, M. De Morville entered his wife’s 
room, holding in his hand an open letter. 

‘‘My dear Louise,” said he “as we had agreed 
upon yesterday evening, I have just written to my 
brother. Here is the letter ; we shall read it 
together, and I will send it off at once, that is, of 
course, provided that, after reflection, you have not 
changed your opinion.” 

“ No, mon ami; far from changing my opinion, it 
seems to me that since we have taken that resolution 
a great weight is lifted off my heart.” 

3 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


34 

‘ Here then is what I have written to my brother/* 

‘‘I only hope your letter won’t arrive too late in 
Dublin ! ” 

Oh ! I think it will get there just in time. I will 
dispatch it this evening by the courier; after to- 
morrow evening it will be in Paris, and in five days 
from now it should arrive in Dublin, unless the 
steamer from England to Ireland be delayed by bad 
weather, which is not impossible. Here then is 
what I write to my brother.” 

And M. De Morville read the following letter : 

“ My Dear Augustus : — This letter must certainly 
surprise you; its import is completely opposed to 
my letter of the 19th. But after long and serious 
reflections, Louise and I beg to revise the decision 
which we had given as final with regard to Miss 
O’Connor. To any one else but you, my dear 
brother, I should feel myself obliged to explain that 
this sudden change, however unreasonable it may 
seem, cannot be attributed either to fickleness of 
character or to a fatal habit of indecision. You 
know me, you know Louise’s steadiness, you know 
that her affection for our dear Alphonsine is as 
tender as it is enlightened; you will comprehend 
then, that it takes very grave reasons indeed to 
oblige us to refuse to-day what we accepted with 
thanks a week ago. In a word, we renounce, with 
every formality, the idea of receiving Miss O’Con- 
nor as governess. We renounce it with regret, with 
great regret. Everything that you had written 
to us about that young lady had inspired us before- 
hand with as much love for her as esteem ; for my 
wife and I repose an absolute, blind, or, I may 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S5 


rather say, a very intelligent confidence in your 
excellent judgment, — in your perfect tact. Miss 
O’Connor was, according to your report, such a 
governess as is rarely to be found. What pleased us 
peculiarly was that Miss Mary, having hitherto in- 
structed only her younger sisters, should be still in 
all the freshness of her mind, and could have formed 
no pedantic habits. 

‘‘We had then accepted her services because she 
suited us in all points. Accustomed to the calm, pure 
life of the country, where she had passed her days ; 
raised under the eye of a father of the most honora- 
ble character, and of a mother of superior mind and 
excellent heart ; a perfect musician ; sketching like a 
master ; of an instruction solid and varied ; speaking 
French and Italian as correctly as English ; of a 
temper at once mild, equable and firm ; of a disposi- 
tion lively and full of merriment (before misfortunes 
had befallen her family) ; in short, dear brother, you 
had discovered for us a treasure, and we had ac- 
cepted it with joy. If I insist so much on the rare 
qualities of Miss O’Connor, it is to convince you 
that we appreciate them fully as much as they 
deserve ; and that if we renounce this treasure it is 
because we have finally decided, my wife and I, after 
long and thoughtful discussion, never to take a 
governess again for Alphonsine, 

“To explain the reasons of this our inalterable 
resolution, my dear brother, would carry me off too 
far just now. We think you can if you deem it 
proper, show the preceding part of this letter to Miss 
O’Connor’s family. We here express, in all sin- 
cerity, our deep regret and unbounded esteem for 


36 THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE : 

that young lady. Tell Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor that 
we were profoundly touched by the confidence they 
placed in us, by entrusting us with their daughter, 
and that she should have found in our house a real 
home. You told us in your last letter, — your reply 
to that in which we formally accepted your proposal 
with regard to Miss O’Connor, — that she would 
leave Dublin in about a fortnight. The present 
letter must arrive in time enough to acquaint her 
family with our decision. I should have written to 
you earlier on this matter, but it was only yesterday 
evening, as I said before, that Louise and I came 
to a final decision. 

‘‘ My wife and daughter send you their love. 
Gerard has just entered his rhetoric year. When he 
gets through he returns home, where I shall keep 
him for two years before I send him to Paris to 
study law. He is, as you know, only eighteen, and 
I will not be sorry to see him ripen a little under my 
own eyes before exposing him to the dangers of the 
metropolis. Imagine his mother’s joy, for you know 
how much we love the young fellow, and what good 
reasons we have for loving him. 

My uncle, De Botardiere, is gone to Dunkirk on 
some business, and in spite of our remonstrances, he 
has preferred, from motives of economy, to travel 
alone and in a public conveyance. He will soon 
return to his property, and we shall have him as 
usual often here as our neighbor. I see you already 
curl your lip, for you don’t like, as you say, to be 
Botardierized — but really you are unjust. He is a 
little cranky, it is true, perhaps a little selfish, but at 
bottom our uncle is a good man. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $7 

“ I fancy I hear your wicked wit muttering that 
‘ certainly, our dear uncle must have something good 
about him somewhere or other, seeing that the kind 
Creator never forms such unsupportable creatures 
without some kind of compensation.* To this I 
reply, Mr. Sceptic, that this compensation is already 
found : Uhc/e Growler is our excellent and lamented 
mother’s brother. That is enough in all our eyes 
and even in yours too, whatever you may say to the 
contrary, to absolve him from all his crotchety trans- 
gressions, even from that — for which you pardon him 
least — of abusing the privilege of his gray hair. It is 
true he does so, and this reminds me that when I 
was in the army he always insisted on making me 
accompany him to the theatre. There he often 
showed himself very troublesome, I might say, very 
insolent, to his neighbors, but at the least observa- 
tion he cried out, ^ Sir, you insult my gray hair ! My 
nephew here, a dragoon officer, will bring you to 
your senses ! ’ This was the way my dear uncle 
obliged me to give or receive two or three sword- 
thrusts, fighting for my life. However that may be, 
to every one knowing how to take him he is really 
kind; and besides, even without necessarily having 
a venal soul, I can’t prevent him from being very 
rich, a bachelor, and from telling us, in his good 
moments, that he takes a pleasure in thinking that 
his fortune, accumulating rapidly by his economy (I 
see you smile, ungrateful man), is to be one day the 
inheritance of your children and mine. 

Certainly, cupidity has nothing to do with the 
consideration that we entertain for him. To-morrow 
let him be as poor as Job, and we would only receive 

4 ^ 


38 


THE a/A TEA U MOR VILLE: 


with redoubled attention and respect the brother of 
our dearly beloved mother. 

Adieu, my dear Augustus; our retirement is be- 
coming dearer and dearer to us, and we feel much 
pleasure in reflecting that in two years our accumu- 
lated economies will have provided Alphonsine with 
a pretty respectable dowry. The time approaches 
when we must think of establishing this dear child, 
and since we are on this subject, do you remember 
one of my old friends, an army comrade, M. De 
Favrolle? I met him lately in Paris, where I had 
gone to spend a few days. We talked family, for he 
has a son twenty-two or three years old, who has 
been at the same college with Gerard. My son was 
among the little fellows, while Favrolle’ s son was 
among the big fellows. ‘Your daughter is sixteen 
years of age,’ says De Favrolle to me, ‘suppose we 
thought of marrying her to my son Theodore. ’ ‘ Oh, 

that’s all after dinner talk,’ say you ; but I tell you 
De Favrolle has splendid property in the North ; he 
is a perfect gentleman, and if his son only resembles 

him But I won’t go on; I don’t want to repeat 

the fable of the ‘ Milkmaid and the Milkpot. ’ The 
important thing is, first of all, to provide Alphonsine 
with a good dowry. We are trying to do so, with- 
out however making the least important sacrifice on 
the subject. — We live here like great lords, at a 
quarter of the expense of living in Paris. The 
habit of retirement has come to please us so much 
that it is certain that, when Alphonsine ’s dowry is 
once safe and secure, we shall commence to work out 
Gerard’s by the same proceeding. 

“You have almost made us expect your presence. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. sg 

as well as that of your wife and children, here next 
spring. We are all delighted at the idea, including, 
of course, your old acquaintance, Madame Pivolet, 
who still continues to distract, and very often to 
vex, our leisure moments with those fabulous inven- 
tions and imaginations with which you have been 
often so astounded. Happily, however, our dear 
Alphonsine, when deriving nourishment from the 
breast of this bouncing nurse, has inherited none of 
that monstrous spirit of exaggeration, thanks to 
which the incorrigible creature turns so many mice 
into elephants and mole-hills into mountains. 

‘‘Once more, adieu, my dear brother. We rely 
on you implicitly to be our interpreter with Miss 
O’Connor and her family, to excuse us, to defend us 
even, if, to our painful regret and contrary to our ex- 
pectations, they should find something uncourteous 
in this sudden change of our intentions, which, once 
more, may be resumed in two or three final unalter- 
able words: — We are decided on taking no governess 
for Alphonsine, But for this, I repeat, we should 
have accepted with delight, with happiness, with 
gratitude, the services of Miss O’Connor. 

“With kindest love from all here to your wife and 
children, and expecting an immediate reply, 

“I am, dear brother, 

“ Tout a toi, 

“A. De Morville.’* 

Madame De Morville, after having listened in 
silence to the reading of the letter, observed to her 
husband : 

“That letter is perfect, mon atni, and, even ad- 
mitting an excessive susceptibility on the part of 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


40 

Miss O’Connor and her family, that susceptibility 
seems to me to be spared as much as possible by the 
manner in which you represent, after all, the real 
state of the case.” 

‘‘Then, my dear Louise, you are quite decided? 
I may send off the letter? Remember, after so 
formal a refusal, it would be impossible to ask Miss 
O’Connor’s services again.” 

“ How can I say it^ mon ami ? I have one terrible 
fault. I am a jealous mother ! Never, no, never, 
can I be able to express to you all I have suffered in 
silence during these last three years. Every day, 
seeing a stranger between my daughter and my- 
self ” 

“ Louise, Louise ! ” interrupted M. De Morville, 
with an accent of mild reproach, “I have often 
scolded you on this subject. This jealousy, though 
springing from an excellent sentiment, is hardly 
reasonable. Like most other ladies, you have not 
received sufficient education to teach your daughter 
music, drawing, and foreign languages. It is a little 
misfortune, but you must accept it with resignation. ’ ’ 

“No, on the contrary, it is a great misfortune, 
mon ami. Ah ! how often have I wept over my in- 
capacity ! A mother should supply her daughter 
with nourishment of the mind as she has given her 
life of the body. ’ ’ 

“Be it so — that would be preferable. It would 
be better also if I were able to give Gtord his educa- 
tion. Thus we could have kept him at home. But, 
in short, I say again, to an impossibility let us 
oppose resignation. We reside in a house forty-five 
miles from Tours. Theri^fore we could not get 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


41 

Professors to come to instruct Alphonsine. We were 
obliged to take a governess into the house. But for 
that we should see our child remain, as to her educa- 
tion, very inferior to all the young ladies of her rank, 
and for her future prospects that would be a very 
grave consideration. Many men seek now-a-days, 
and not without reason, in their wives, agreeable 
accomplishments and an extensive and varied in- 
formation.*’ 

‘‘These accomplishments, tliis information Al- 
phonsine possesses already.” 

“Yes — she possesses them — pretty nearly.” 

“ Well, then, she can study privately and thus lose 
nothing of what she has learned.” 

“ I hope so. But we must not shut our eyes to 
the fact. Her education is still far from being 
complete. * * 

“How many women know a great deal less than 
she does ! ’ * 

“That is very true; and you yourself, my good 
and dear Louise, have triumphantly proved to me 
that a noble character and a good heart can supply 
everything.* 

“ Well, then, if that be so? ” 

Before her husband could reply, Madame De Mor- 
ville added with a smile : “ This ‘ well, then, if that 
be so ? * shows great pride, I know, but it is to my 
daughter that I apply it, and I prefer a thousand 
times seeing her a little less learned than to see my- 
self suffering from the torments of an absurd but 
m.ost painful jealousy. In short, I may as well tell 
you, this love of the world which you encourage in 
me instead of blaming, * * 


3^ 


THE CHATEAU MORVILLE; 


Why should I blame you for it, dear Louise?” 
said M. De Morville, affectionately; ‘‘Is it not 
natural that you should seek some amusement in the 
society of your neighbors? Your life here is so 
lonely, so gloomy ! ’ ’ 

“ You bear it very well, for your part.” 

“ Not only do I bear it very well, but it just suits 
me. My health is not very good, I love retirement 
and study, and I would never be barbarous enough 
to think of depriving you of your pleasures because 
they are a little different from mine. ’ * 

“It is true, mon a77ii^ that in spite of my taste for 
social amusements, I should indulge it less if I had 
more of my daughter’s company. Yes, and very 
often I have let myself be persuaded to spend a few 
days more with some of our neighbors, because I said 
to myself: ‘After all, my daughter don’t want me; 
♦has she not her governess ? ’ and then my heart bursts 
with jealousy.” 

“ Come now, Louise, could you be seriously jeal- 
ous of our last governess, that poor Mademoiselle 
Lagrange ? To compare the affection your daughter 
had for her to that which she cherishes for you ! ’ ’ 
“Was not my daughter oftener with her governess 
than witli me, sleeping in the same room, living 
constantly at her side ? Did not Mademoiselle La- 
grange share in the, at that time, almost childish 
amusements of Alphonsine, from which maternal 

dignity excluded me ? — Did not ’ * 

“ Why interrupt yourself? ” 

“Well, yes, however painful the confession, I 
must tell you that I am now quite decided never to 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. p 

have a governess again, for, after all, I have not a 
bad heart. ’ ’ 

Oh ! Heaven knows it, certainly not ! ** 

Heaven may know it, but you don’t know it any 
more than myself. That makes you smile. You are 
wrong, for, in short, was it a good or a wicked thing 
to experience, not regret, but a sort of hateful envy, 
at seeing a stranger teaching my daughter . what I 
was incapable of teaching her myself? Was it good 
to say to myself with bitterness : ‘ This stranger is 
superior to me in one respect in my daughter’s eyes, 
for, beside this governess, I, who neither know music 
nor drawing, nor foreign languages, nor many other 
things, am an ignoramus, a kind of blockhead, and, 
in spite of all her tenderness for me, must not my 
daughter think me a good for nothing ? ’ ” 

Hello, Louise ! ” said M. De Morville, laughing, 
‘^this is exaggeration with a vengeance, just d /a 
Madame Pivolet ; take care she has not bitten you. ’ ’ 
Mon ami, you are wrong to jest ; I speak to you 
of sufferings, foolish but cruel, from which I tried to 
rid myself by accepting the numerous invitations 
of our neighbors, while you remained here alone 
with your books. These sufferings you have never 
guessed; I was ashamed of them; I endeavored to 
stifle them, to give no inkling of what I felt ; for 
this poor Mademoiselle Lagrange was a lamb sent 
on earth by the good kind God. Still, in spite of 
myself, I broke out sometimes in snappish remarks, 
in ironies, absurd indeed, but which told too well. 
I saw that plainly by the good creature’s melan- 
choly. But even that is not all .” 

M De Morville had at first received these confi- 


THE CHATEAU MORVILLE: 

deuces of his wife almost jocosely, but now he 
appeared almost as much surprised as afflicted, and 
he replied : 

‘‘Louise, is it you that I hear speaking this way? 
You whose excellent heart I have so often appre- 
ciated, so much admired ? 

“ Oh ! you men can never understand a mother’s 
heart. All mothers are not like me, fortunately. 
But in short, such as I confess myself, such I am. 
Another of my absurd jealousies you can under- 
stand just as little. I hated to see my daughter as 
inferior as myself to her governess. I was always 
saying to myself : There is a poor girl, born in a por- 
ter’s lodge, — for Mademoiselle Lagrange’s father had 
been porter in the boarding school where she had 
received her education, — there’s a poor girl, without 
name, without fortune, who is and will be, in all 
matters of art and of knowledge, infinitely superior 
to my daughter, who is to have a fortune of fifty 
thousand francs a year ! Do you want me to tell 
you something still worse? The only thing that 
made me tolerate this poor Mademoiselle Lagrange 
was, that she was, as you know, as ugly as the seven 
deadly sins. If she had been pretty, or even prettier 
than Alphonsine, in spite of all I could do, I should 
have held her in abomination. In fine, I must con- 
fess it, the result of all this has been that Mademoi- 
selle Lagrange has thought proper to leave us under 
the plea of ill health, and it was only a plea — 
she had never been in better health in her life. 
As for the rest, I do myself this justice — I would 
have suffered everything to the end sooner than send 
away the good, amiable creature, and I freed myself 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR AIN E. 


45 

from painful remorse only on that day, when, thanks 
to our earnest exertions and strong recommendations, 
I succeeded in placing her with a most excellent 
family/^ 

^^Ah! Louise, how much in the right we have 
been in refusing to receive Miss Mary ! Poor young 
lady ! And if she had happened to be good look- 
ing I This I know nothing of : for, I acknowledge 
it, to this moment it had appeared to me to be a 
matter of hardly the slightest importance.’* 

Miss Mary? Oh ! I confess now% that for a thou- 
sand reasons, I would have infinitely preferred Made- 
moiselle Lagrange to Miss Mary. — Gracious Heaven 1 
how puerile, ridiculous, even odious, all this is, I 
know but too well ; for, even from you, in whom I 
have the most unlimited confidence, I kept the 
greater part of these vexatious feelings carefully con- 
cealed, happy enough if they had annoyed only my- 
self. But no; Mademoiselle Lagrange, of course, 
could not resist these thousand incomprehensible 
stings and thorns, and at last left the house. It was 
in vain that, in my regret for having wounded her, I 
often endeavored to make her forget the pain by little 
presents and redoubled attentions. She was a timid 
little heart, and still, with all her unalterable, meek, 
sweet way of doing things, she always contrived, 
without offending me, to refuse the peace-offerings 
I held out. — That was the inevitable result of my 
unfortunate disposition. It would be just the same 
with Miss O’Connor; for, I don’t deny it, this re- 
fusal on our part ’ ’ 

Then, interrupting herself, Madame De Morville 
added, with an expression of sincerity that commu- 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


nicated a touching charm to her animated counte- 
nance : — No, after all, I’m not a wicked woman — 
I feel I’m not. For, I remember, my dear husband 
— very luckily, in time — that we have forgotten one 
very important thing in the letter to your brother.” 

‘‘What is it?” 

“A postscript.” 

“ On what subject ? ” 

“Your brother had told us that not only did the 
situation which we offered to Miss O’Connor assure 
her own existence for two or three years, but that 
almost every penny of her salary would be sent by her 
to Dublin, to assist in relieving the wants of her 
mother and her four young sisters. Poor things ! 
How much they are to be pitied ! ” 

“Louise, since your excellent heart of itself sees 
this objection, I will acknowledge that what had 
pained me most in our change of resolution, was to 
think that this interesting family was about to be de- 
prived of a resource on which it had relied with confi- 
dence. I had been already seeking the means of ’ ’ 

“ Don’t finish, nion ami — the thought rends my 
heart. But listen. We intended to give Miss 
O’Connor twenty-four hundred francs a year. It 
is not to save money that we have declined her 
services.” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Can we not, then, hit upon some means of send- 
ing, by way of compensation, I dare not say as 
damages, these twenty-four hundred francs to the 
poor family for two or three years ? ’ ’ 

“ That’s impossible. You have read my brother’s 
letter. Nothing can be more honorably proud and 


OJ!, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


sensitive than Mr. O’Connor’s disposition. Not 
only would he not accept of an alms, but he would 
even be cruelly offended by such an offer.” 

‘‘ How woefully deficient you are in Madame 
Pivolet’s imagination just now, my poor friend ! ” 
said Madame De Morville, smiling. — ‘‘I think I 
must send you to take a lesson from her.’* t 

‘‘How so? Please explain.” 

“ Am I crazy enough to think of proposing to Mr. 
O’Connor or his daughter a yearly allowance ? Are 
there no other means of having our wishes accepted ? 
It is in this respect that I tell you you are wanting in 
Madame Pivolet’s powers of imagination; and I, 
myself, too, I acknowledge, at present can hit on 
no feasible plan. However — wait a minute — the 
very sound of the magic word Pivolet sets our in- 
ventive faculties agoing. Alphonsine is beginning 
to speak English : well, then, let your brother, to 
whom you can explain our embarrassment in a post- 
script, hunt up some good English books which have 
not been translated into J'rench. Do you under- 
stand? ” 

“An excellent idea! He will ask Miss Mary to 
translate them for Alphonsine.” 

“And we shall estimate this labor as highly as we 
please. The most sensitive delicacy can find nothing 
to object to in that.” 

“Ah! Madame Louise,” said M. De Morville, 
tenderly embracing his wife, “and to think that just 
now you accused yourself of having a bad heart ! ” 

“Oh ! I have my own ideas on that subject. Any- 
way, I don’t want to be led into temptation. So, 
then, you approve of my idea ? ’ ’ 


THE a/A TEA U MOR VILLE : 


will run and write the postscript and then seal 
the letter.** 

Just as M. De Morville was leaving the apartment, 
his daughter, Mademoiselle Alphonsine, entered it. 

My child,** said her father with a smile, I am 
writing to your uncle. Have you no commission to 
give me, no contraband goods to get on the sly? 
You know he calls himself Mademoiselle Alpho^isine* s 
bold smuggler, A consul of France, too ! What it is 
to have nieces ! ’* 

No, father, I believe I shall not abuse dear 
uncle’s kindness this time. Remember me to him 
most kindly, as well as to dear aunt and my little 
Irish cousins.** 

Oh ! that is done long ago ; so I have nothing 
to do now but to close the letter, after having written 
our postscript, of course,** he added, addressing his 
wife, whom he then left alone with his daughter. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


^9 


CHAPTER III. 

THE PUPIL. 

Mademoiselle De Morville was sixteen years old, 
and very like her mother. Her face, without being 
pretty, charmed by its sweet, attractive expression ; 
you could read on it, as in a book, the pure inno- 
cence of her soul and the open frankness of her 
disposition. 

As soon as her father had quitted the room. 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine said to her mother : 

Mamma, is the letter that father is writing to 
uncle, relative to Miss O’Connor?** 

Yes, my child.** 

‘‘It is then decided; she is coming. — Heigho ! ** 

“Oh, gracious! what a terrible sigh,’* said 
Madame De Morville, smiling. “You are very 
much afraid, then, of the arrival of your governess?** 

“Afraid! no, that is too strong an expression; 
but, if I had the choice — ** 

“Well, let us hear it.** 

“I should prefer remaining without a governess.” 

“ Poor Mademoiselle Lagrange, however, was no 
tyrant.” 

“She! oh no, indeed! She was goodness itself, 
and then so fond of me, — in fact, a real sister.” 

“ That’s true ; you could hardly do without each 
other, my Alphonsine. You were oftener with her 
than with me.” 


50 


THE CHA tea U MOR VlLLEr 


‘^That could hardly be otherwise. The time of 
studies — ’ ’ 

‘‘And during your recreations also.’’ 

“ But, how could it be otherwise, Mamma ? Would 
you have played races with me, or battledore, or 
even dolls? For you know that it is hardly two 
years since I left off playing dolls.” 

“Yes, Mademoiselle Lagrange even played with you. 
Her good nature was boundless, to do her justice.” 

“Yes; but it was only whenever I had satisfied 
her by my work. If I did not, she was very severe, 
but always strictly just, and so kind, and so .good, 
putting up with everything, never complaining !” 

“I don’t see very clearly what she could have to 
complain about. In short, are you sorry for her ? ’ ’ 

“ Indeed I am. Before finding such another gov- 
erness Do you think your Miss O’Connor shall 

equal her ? ’ ’ 

“Why not?” 

“Mamma, I assure you, you shall never have the 
like of Mademoiselle Lagrange again. Just listen : 
such a sweet disposition ! and then she knew so 
much ! such talents for music ! and drawing ! know- 
ing perfectly how to take you in order to instruct ! 
letting herself down to you, in short.” 

“ How letting herself down to you? ” 

“Just so. Mamma; for, as to knowledge, she was, 
and always will be, a princess, as it were, in com- 
parison to me. And still she was only the porter’s 
daughter of the boarding school where she was 
raised ! She never denied it a bit.” 

“So far from that, she even affected a little, it 
seemed to me, to talk of the humility of her birth.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


61 


** She affect ! Oh ! Mamma, that is a little mistake. 
Whenever she chanced to speak of her family, it was 
only when the conversation called for it. Besides, I 
tell you what, if Mademoiselle Lagrange had been 
proud she had very good reason.’* 

‘‘Proud of what? Not of her beauty, certainly, 
poor girl ’ ’ 

“No, that’s true. But, don’t you know. Mamma, 
that it was a very fine thing to be a governess, to be 
thus enabled, by her labor, to provide for herself and 
help her family besides? — I would just ask you. 
Mamma, what could I do, if I were in her place?” 

“The answer is very simple, dear child. — If you 
were in Mademoiselle Lagrange’s place, you would 
do as she and so many other young girls have done, 
full of courage, of knowledge, of goodness and of 
heart : qualities which, I acknowledge. Mademoiselle 
Lagrange possessed ; for, you know, my dear child, 
what esteem we had for her. ’ ’ 

“Indeed you had. Mamma; you were perfect, so 
was Papa; and, as for me, I loved her like a sister.” 

“So much so indeed that, for several days after 
her departure, I often found you weeping, and even 
yet you are often very low spirited. Nurse Pi volet’s 
stories hardly please you any longer. ’ ’ 

“ Oh ! Mamma, to separate all at once, after 
living tpgether three years, is not very pleasant.” 

“This sensitiveness is honorable to your heart, 
Alphonsine. But, in short, it seems to me that you 
and I can find in our mutual affections enough to 
console us for the departure of a stranger. ’ ’ 

“A stranger!” exclaimed the girl artlessly, “say 
rather a friend, a sister.” 


52 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


‘‘ Be it SO ! But, a mother is at least worth a friend, 
even a sister. ’ * 

How can such things be compared? '' asked the 
young girl, embracing her mother with a charming 
grace; ^Moes loving your sister prevent you from 
idolizing your mother? 

My dear child,’* replied Madame De Morville, 
with sweet emotion, I have never doubted your 
tender affection; only I don’t know why a mother, 
let her be ever so much beloved, cannot be her 
daughter’s companion.” 

Oh ! gracious ! no, Mamma, that is quite a dif- 
ferent thing. A mother can’t very well be her 
daughter’s companion.” 

How so, dear daughter? ” 

For instance. Mamma, you are always extremely 
kind and affectionate towards me, you know ; but, 
still I have always to look up to you as my mother, 
and, as such, deserving my deepest respect as Avell as 
my most devoted love. There are thousands of little 
trifles, fiddle-faddles, nonsensical jokes, tomfooleries 
if you choose to call them so, which I could never 
venture to talk to you about, but which amused 
Mademoiselle Lagrange and myself hugely, making 
us laugh until the very tears ran out of our eyes. 
And then our endless chatterings during recreation ; 
even the childish games we had together, for she 
was a regular child when she put herself to it ; all 
this made the study-time pass like a dream, and 
that of recreation like lightning.” 

‘‘Oh! of course,” said Madame De Morville, 
with a forced smile, for the poor jealous mother was 
suffering keenly, in spite of all her good nature ; 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


53 


‘'and, as for me, I never had the pleasure of the 
young ladies’ societ}' except during our walk before 
dinner or in the evening till tea hour, after which 
you retired to your governess’s room. But, let us 
return to Miss O’Connor — ” 

“Oh! please. Mamma, don’t speak any more 
about Miss O’Connor. It will be time enough for 
me to think of her when she comes. ’ ’ . 

“ Whence comes this great prejudice against her?” 

“Oh! I fancy I see Miss O’Connor standing 
there before us; a big, tall Englishwoman, with a 
cold, forbidding air, and if she ever becomes human 
enough to condescend to smile, showing us teeth 
three inches long. ” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! Not a very flattering portrait.” 

“Besides, if she were even a phoenix, she could 
never replace my poor Mademoiselle Lagrange. So, 
Mamma, I give you warning, I am afraid I shall 
hardly prove satisfactory to your Miss Mary.” 

“Well, my child, I’m going to make you happy.” 

“ How so. Mamma? ” 

“ The letter that your father has written to your 
uncle, countermands Miss O’Connor’s departure.” 

“Is it possible! — What happiness!” exclaimed 
the young girl in the most joyous tones. Then, 
checking herself: “Still, I don’t know if I ought to 
rejoice. Perhaps I shall gain nothing by the change. 
Have you any one in view to replace Miss Mary ? ’ ’ 

“ No, nobody.” 

“Nobody?” 

“Your father and I have decided that you are 
to have no governess in future. Are you not 
delighted?” 


5 ^ THE CHAtEAU MORVILLEi 

' ‘^Oh! certainly.’^ Then, after reflecting : /‘But, 
Mamma, who then is to complete my education ? ’ * 

“Yourself, my dear child. You are already a 
pretty good musician, you sketch well, you know 
English and Italian well enough now to study them 
without a teacher. When I say without a teacher, I 
mean I shall take my revenge,’* said Madame De 
Morville, tenderly. “I shall never leave you. Un- 
fortunately, I am not instructed enough to take the 
place of a governess; but, in short, without being a 
musician, I have an ear true enough to warn you 
when you skip notes or when you sing false. I can- 
not sketch, but I can see very well if what you copy 
resembles your model. As for history and geog- 
raphy, by means of books I shall try to supply my 
own defective knowledge. And then,” added Ma- 
dame De Morville, in a touching voice, and almost 
moved to tears, “You will be indulgent, won’t you? 
You will take my good will into consideration. In 
short, I shall do all I can to keep you from regret- 
ting your governess too much.” 

“ Oh ! mother, on the contrary you restore her to 
me,” cried the young girl, with an expansive burst 
of affection, throwing her arms around her mother’s 
neck : “I will love her in you as I will love you in 
her. ’ ’ 

“And not only shall I share in your studies,” re- 
sumed Madame De Morville, responding with ineffa- 
ble happiness to her daughter’s embrace, “ but I shall 
also share in your recreations. You shall find that I 
am not so much mother as I appear, and that I can 
be gay, laughing, and as pleasant company as any 
one else. And then those visits, sometimes rather 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


55 


prolonged, which I often make in reply to the invita- 
tions of our neighbors, and of which you complained 
so tenderly, I shall never make them again. All my 
moments shall be consecrated to you ; in short, I will 
do all I can to make up for lost time. ’ * 

The conversation was suddenly interrupted by 
noisy steps and cries of terror in the adjoining room. 
Madame De Morville and her daughter started up in 
affright, and they saw a stout, short little woman, 
who seemed to waddle rather than to walk, — burst 
into their chamber with a face expressive of the wild- 
est consternation. It was Madame Pivolet, formerly 
Alphonsine’s nurse, and now the housekeeper, as the 
large bunch of keys hanging from the girdle round 
her waist plainly showed. She rushed in furiously, 
raising her hands to heaven and crying : 

‘‘ Oh ! Madame, what a misfortune 1 Monsieur 
De Botardiere ! oh ! what a frightful accident ! ’ * 
And without saying a word more she fell on a 
chair, throwing her head back, as if in a faint. Ma- 
dame De Morville and her daughter, extremely un- 
easy, though they had often before been the dupes 
of the housekeeper’s highly colored exaggerations, 
approached her and demanded eagerly : 

“ In the name of heaven, Madame Pivolet, speak ! 
What is the matter? What has happened to M. De 
Botardiere ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Has my uncle returned? Answer! oh! why 
don’t you answer? ” 

“Ah! Madame — ah! Mademoiselle,” said the 
housekeeper, shaking her head with extreme dejec- 
tion, “ it’s all over 1 ” 

“ What’s all over? ” 


56 


THE CHA TEA U MOR VILLE ; 


‘‘Oh! it’s frightful I Unfortunate Monsieur De 
Botardiere ! He had (not meaning disrespect) a very 
hot temper. But poor dear gentleman ! such a fate 1 ’ ’ 

“ My uncle is here, then? ” exclaimed the girl. 

“Such a fine old man 1 ” resumed Madame Pi vo- 
let, in a tone of disconsolate lamentation, “such a 
green old age 1 ’ ’ 

“Finish, I tell you,” said Madame De Morville. 
“It is miserable to keep us this way in suspense. 
Once more, what has happened ? ’ ’ 

“ Excuse me, Madame, but the emotion, the horri- 
ble spectacle ” 

“ Oh ! Mamma, I have not a drop of blood left in 
my veins 1 ’ ’ 

“Nor I either, I assure you. Why don’t you 
speak, Madame Pivolet ? ” 

“ I was just now in the court-yard of the chateau,” 
said the housekeeper, with fluttering voiceiand wiping 
her forehead, “when I see a gig away down in the 
avenue.” 

“ My uncle’s gig? ” 

“Yes, drawn by the great big white horse that he 
calls — I mean that he called Ronceval, the poor dear 
gentleman ! ” 

“How, that he called!''' exclaimed Madame De 
Morville, wringing her hands in an agony of terror. 
“You don’t know what you’re saying I ” 

“ Listen, Madame, oh 1 listen. I see the gig come 
nearer and nearer, drawn by Ronceval ; the old 
horse was even trotting very quickly, which it is not 
often he does.” 

“ What torture ! Why don’t you finish? ” 

“ The gig draws nearer and nearer ; it is only 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR AIN E. 


57 


about fifty paces or so from the iron gate when, all 

at once, when oh, Madame ! ’ ^ 

‘‘What then, for heaven’s sake, what then?’* 
“When, slap! bang! whiz! I don’t know how 
many guns are let off at poor M. De Botardiere, sit- 
ting quietly in his gig.*’ 

“ Guns let off at my uncle ! Impossible ! ” 

“ Impossible ! Would to Heaven it were, Madame. 
Frightened at the volley, Ronceval takes the bit 
between his teeth, dashes into the yard like a de- 
mon, drives the gig smash against a post, knocks it 
into shivers, and what do I see rolling at my feet 
— I must even have some blood on my dress^ — but 
poor, unfortunate Monsieur De Botardiere, with ten 
bullets in him at least, his body a compound frac- 
ture, his head and face a regular mish-mash ! I saw 

he was breathing his last sigh, so I ran ’ ’ 

“Oh, you’re crazy!” exclaimed Madame De 
Morville, “and I’m crazy too for letting myself be 
again duped by your lying exaggerations ! Why, 
there is my uncle’s voice ! ” 

And sure enough M. De Botardiere’ s crusty voice 
was heard quite plainly in the next room, saying : 

“It is quite possible ! But I want the rascal to be 
driven away this very moment ! ’ ’ 

And M. De Botardiere entered in all the majesty 
of his obesity, having no ten balls in his body, and 
his head and face being by no means in a mish-mash. 
The only sign of a compound fracture about him was 
visible in his hat which, crushed, flattened, covered 
with mud, and with the crown hanging on one side, 
gave a very comical expression to the old gentleman’s 
wrathful countenance. 


4 


5S the CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 

^^Oh! dear Uncle/’ cried the young girl, run- 
ning to embrace him, ^‘what a fright Mamma and I 
were in on your account. Happily it is nothing.” 

How ! it is nothing ! ” exclaimed the old gentle- 
man, ‘Ho scare my horse by a sudden shot is noth- 
ing ! ’ ’ 

“Uncle,” said Madame De Morville, “it must 
have been one of our game keepers that fired off his 

gun, without being aware ” 

“What is that to me? His being aware or not 
did not prevent Ronceval from starting off and 
bumping the gig so violently against the gate post 
that I was very nearly thrown out, and my hat flew 
off my head and got under the wheel. Look at the 
state of it now ! I tell you, if Ronceval had not stop- 
ped of his own accord at the steps, I’m sure I should 
have followed my hat, and perhaps got crushed to 
death ! And people call that nothing ! ’ ’ 

“ Uncle, it is far too much, indeed,” said Madame 
De Morville, “ but Alphonsine meant that it was very 
little in comparison to what it might have been.” 

Whilst Madame De Morville was thus talking to 
the old gentleman, Alphonsine approached Madame 
Pivolet, saying in a tone of reproach : “ Here is an- 
other of your inventions; are you not ashamed, at 
your age, to be guilty of such abominable lies ? ’ ’ 
“Mademoiselle, I saw what I saw. Your uncle 
was lying there in bits. He must have cured him- 
self with the Russia Salve, It has wonderful healing 
properties. But I must go and get the poor dear 
gentleman’s room ready.” 

And off went the housekeeper, calm and tranquil, 
her conscience untroubled by the least remorse. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


69 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE RICH UNCLE. 

M. De Botardiere threw himself into an arm-chair 
and, wiping his forehead, exclaimed to M. De Mor- 
ville, who had just entered : 

‘‘ Nephew, I swear I shall return this instant to 
Botardiere if the scoundrel that scared Ronceval is not 
discharged this moment. The rascal saw me coming, 
and fired his piece through pure malice.^* 

Uncle, excuse me. Robert was behind one of 
the lodge walls, and could not possibly have seen 
you. ’ ’ 

“Very well, sir ! Take your servant’s part against 
me.” 

And, making for the door, he cried out : 

“ Let Ronceval be geared up this instant ! ” 

“Dear uncle, please,” said Madame De Morville, 
taking the old gentleman’s hand and making him sit 
down ; “surely, your threat can not be serious? ” 

“Yes, niece, I repeat it. Either that villain 
leaves the chateau this moment or I do.” 

“Be it so, uncle,” said M. De Morville, “Robert 
shall go. Permit me only to tell you that he is a 
married man, has three children, an old mother ’ ’ 

“ Is that a reason that he should scare the life out 
Ronceval, and get me crushed to death under the 
wheels of the gig? The mischief! Nephew, you 


60 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


are very considerate for people that want to break 
your uncle’s bones ! ” 

‘‘You shall be satisfied, uncle,” said M. De Mor- 
ville, exchanging a look of intelligence with his wife, 
“Robert shall quit our service.” 

“There must be no shalling about it. He must 
quit this very day, before I set out for Botardiere.” 

“Yes, uncle, this very day he shall leave our ser- 
vice. I am going in a moment to give my steward 
the necessary orders on the subject. Now, then, let 
us inquire a little about your journey. Of course, 
you are only just returned to Botardiere? ” 

“ I am returned two days, thank Heaven. I 
thought I should never return, so great was my im- 
patience to see the end of that infernal journey.” 

“ It was not very agreeable, then? ”. 

“Agreeable! as I hope for heaven, I shall never 
forget that journey. It was about as agreeable as the 
reception that awaited me here.” 

“ How so, uncle ? ” asked Madame De Morville, 
“ did you come near being upset ? ” 

“I wish to the Lord I was 1 Then that imperti- 
nent jade and her companion might have received 
some good bruises that should prevent them from 
going any further for awhile. Such a thorn in my 
side as they proved all the way from Calais to 
Paris I ’ ’ 

“You have no doubt, uncle, encountered some of 
those unpleasant adventures that people are so often 
exposed to in public conveyances ? ’ ’ 

“ OftenJ not at all, you’re very much mistaken,” 
cried the old gentleman in a tone of angry recrimi- 
nation. “On the contrary, it is very seldom that 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR AIN E, 61 

such brazen jezebels, accompanied by such impudent 
ruffians, are to be met with/’ 

Madame De Morville, fearing lest the conversation 
was taking a turn not quite proper for her daughter 
to listen to, said to her in a whisper : 

Go, my child, and see if Madame Pivolet is get- 
ting your uncle’s room ready.” 

The young girl left the room, and M. De Morville 
resumed the conversation, saying with a smile, to put 
his uncle in good humor : 

Still the same old boy, always in trouble about 
the petticoats ! ’ ’ 

‘^Sir, again you’re very much mistaken. — In trou- 
ble about her ! ! seizing as she did my corner, which 
I had to quit for her ladyship, sitting there surrounded 
by her lovers, one of whom, the favorite, conducted 
himself with an insolence, a disregard for my gray 
hair, quite unparalleled, during the whole journey ! 
Oh no ! I should be quite happy if they had only let 
me alone. But I was the plaything, the laughing 
stock, the butt of the whole Diligence. As I had of- 
ten expressed aloud my wish to get soon to Botar- 
diere, a desire natural enough when one finds him- 
self in such rascally company, my insolent and im- 
pertinent fellow travellers, at every stopping place we 
came to, would roar to the conductor : ^ Is this Bo- 
tardiere? Ain’t we yet at Botardiere? Oh! we’re 
never to get to Botardiere I Where the deuce is Bo- 
tardiere?’ The low blackguards! But as I don’t 
keep my tongue in my pocket, I gave them change 
for their notes, I tell you.” 

‘‘Indeed, my dear uncle,” said Madame De 


62 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


Morville, such a want of respect to a gentleman of 
your age is at once vulgar and cowardly. * * 

‘‘Well, my dear, that is the kind of young men 
we have now-a-days. ^ 

“Fortunately, uncle, there are exceptions.’* 

“ Not one.” 

“Oh ! come, uncle,” said M. De Morville, with a 
smile, “you will make an exception in favor of my 
son, Gerard.” 

“Him! let him get only once arm-in-arm with 
that brazen female, like the puppy I’m speaking 
about, and he would not be a bit better than the 
next man.” 

“We shall take care, however, that he does not 
frequent such bad company.” 

“ Well, then you will be right, if you can only do 
it. Just think: the impudent female, without the 
least regard for my gray hair, commenced by letting 
loose her gallant at me, who actually forced me to 
leave my corner, and ride sixth on that abominable 
front seat, with my back to the horses I At the 
tables d'hote, my lady was always helped first. It 
was a regular conspiracy between her and the rest of 
the travellers to leave me only the remains. But 
that is not all. One of those four ignorant fools, 
who, even in the very diligence office at Calais, had 
begun tormenting me, would cry out at every meal 
— ‘ Waiter, a beefsteak d la Botardiere I a cup of 
coffee d la Botardiere ! fried potatoes d la Botar- 
diere I an old turkey gobbler d la Botardiere ! ’ And 
then how they laughed 1 It was so very witty 1 
Another animal had one eternal and stupid joke 
always in his mouth — ‘ I open a national subscrip- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


63 


tion to hang up M. De Botardiere's ten cent daguer- 
reotype in every diligence, as a picture of the 
amiable traveller ! * and such like ribaldries. When 
we were on the road again, by way of dessert, I was 
regaled with the whispers, smiles and other familiar- 
ities that passed, before my face, between my lady 
and her lovers. Accordingly, every time I saw her 
get out of that infernal diligence, though I’m not a 
bad man, I kept wishing in my heart that she’d slip 
and break her leg ! ’ ’ 

Indeed, uncle,” said Madame De Morville, ^‘it 
must be very disagreeable to meet such creatures in a 
public vehicle.” 

And the best of the joke is, that she made her 
gallant pass for her brother ! ’ ’ 

After such shameless conduct,” said Madame 
De Morville, ‘‘I should think such deception quite 
a gratuitous profanation.” 

‘‘ Pshaw ! what do such creatures care for these 
scruples? I surmised there was something wrong, so 
I asked the conductor for the name of my gentleman. 
He looked at the list, and read : Af. Theodore De 
Favrolle. ’ ’ 

What name, uncle ? ” 

I say it it again for you, distinctly and plainly — 
Theodore De Favrolle. But, can it be \}!\dXyou know 
the impertinent young scroundrel, who, with his 
female companion, proved such a nightmare to me 
on that long, dreary journey?” 

‘‘I don’t know the young man, my dear uncle; 
but if he is the son of M. De Favrolle, my old 
Colonel, his father is one of my oldest and best 
friends. It is only this morning I wrote to my 


THE CHAtEAU M ORVILLE: 


64 

brother that, the last time I was in Paris, I had met 
old M. De Favrolle, and that he said to me, with a 
smile, ‘ Why should we not marry our children 
when they are old enough ? ’ ” 

Ah, ’pon my word, your daughter should have a 
nice husband ! Besides, you know that after what 
has passed between the puppy and myself, to enter- 
tain such a project any longer would be an indig- 
nity.’’ 

‘^Uncle^ listen to one word, I implore you — ” 
‘‘What! I got rid of the fellow in the carriage 
only to meet him again at your house 1 Let me olf ! 
You shall never see my face again 1 ” 

“Oh! dear uncle, be calm for one moment,” 
said Madame De Morville ; “ my husband is speak- 
ing only of a little expression casually dropped in 
conversation. Besides, Alphonsine is not old 
enough to be married.” 

“ And suppose she was old enough, Madame ? ” 
“Yes, my uncle is right, Louise,” M. De 
Morville hastened to interpose; “without being a 
rigorist myself, and knowing well that youth, as is 
said, must have its fling, I acknowledge, uncle, that 
what you tell me of this young De Favrolle gives nje 
a very unfavorable impression with regard to him. 
Hardly twenty-four years of age, and to conduct 
himself so indecently, to be so grossly deficient in 

respect to a man of your years ’ ’ 

“ And when you see his father, present him my 
regards for his hopeful son and his ina^noratay for I 
soon found out she was nothing but an adventuress. 
While the conductor was looking over the list, I 
looked over it too, and, as there was only one 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


65 


woman in the diligence, I soon found that my fine 
lady had taken an English name. Now mind, she 
is a French woman born, for she speaks French as 
well as you or I ; but nothing less would satisfy her 
but to put her name down as Miss O’Connor — Hey ! 
what’s the matter?” exclaimed the old gentleman, 
in surprise, seeing that his auditors started from 
their seats and looked at each other in consternation. 
^^What ails you both? Is there anything so very 
extraordinary in what I’m relating? What is there 
astounding in a French adventuress taking an 
English name ? Oh, answer ! You are gaping there 
like two statues — ” 

Because, the fact is, uncle, that we are as- 
tounded,” said M. De Morville. And, addressing 
his wife, Can you understand it ? ” 

Mon ami, it is impossible. There must be some 
mistake,” answered Madame De Morville, ‘‘besides 
the name O’Connor, I think, is common enough in 
England.” 

“What mistake?” asked M. De Botardiere. 
“What are you talking about? Are we playing at 
Cross questions and crooked answers ? ’ ’ 

“ Excuse me, uncle,” said M. De Morville “are 
you quite sure you read on the list the name of 
Miss O’Connor? ” 

“ Ha ! I suppose you take me to be blind ! Do I 
know what word is made by an O, a C, an O, a 
double N, an O, aijd an R ? The confounded 
name ! I have reason enough to remember it all the 
days of my life ! ’ ’ 

“And are you quite certain that she is a French 
woman ? ” 


4 ^ 


66 


THE CHA TEA U MOR VILLE ; 


I tell you that she speaks French as well as 
we do.’^ 

‘^Was she coming from England?'* asked 
Madame De Morville, with much anxiety. 

Did she travel all the way with you from 
Dunkirk ? * * asked M. De Morville, in no less trouble, 
or did you only meet her at Calais ? ** 

Will you both drive me crazy?’* exclaimed the 
testy old gentleman, starting up. How ! I tell 
you that this creature has been the cause of the most 
disagreeable journey I ever made in my life, and you 
pester me with endless questions about her ! By 
Jove, that’s playing a little too much on my 
patience ! ’ ’ 

At this moment Madame Pivolet entered the 
room, no longer with the distracted air that she had 
assumed to announce the unhappy demise of M. De 
Botardiere, so suddenly brought about by the ten 
bullets in his body, but mysteriously, darkly, ap- 
proaching on tip-toe M. De Morville, whom she 
addressed in a whisper, as if afraid of being heard 
outside : — 

Oh ! sir ” 

‘^Well! what is it ! ” exclaimed M. De Morville, , 
in a loud voice and very impatiently : what do you 
want, Madame Pivolet ? ” 

But the housekeeper, with double mystery, lifted 
her hands and shook her head, thus signaling the 
necessity for profound silence, and then came quite 
close to M. De Morville before she whispered : — 

‘‘ Sh ! sh ! sir. An extraordinary event, unheard 
of!” 

Madame De Morville, knowing from old experience 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. Qj 

the fertility of her housekeeper’s imagination, of 
which indeed she had only lately been the dupe, and 
moreover being, as well as her husband, extremely 
uneasy on account of her uncle’s rencontre with a 
Mademoiselle O’Connor, could not bear to be im- 
posed on any longer by Pivolet’s mysterious prelimi- 
naries, and addressed her curtly: — 

'‘Speak, rbeg of you, without those precautions, 
and that ridiculous pantomime. You know that half 
an hour ago you imagined you saw what you never 
saw — you understand ? — Speak, then, and speak 
quickly.” 

But, Madame Pivolet was not to be so easily dis- 
concerted. Still in a low voice, and this time address- 
ing herself to M. De Botardiere in order to secure a 
hearer less prejudiced against her usual fables, she 
said : — 

"Ah! Monsieur De Botardiere! If you only 
knew it ! an adventure beyond conception ! ” 

"What the deuce do you mean, you old fool, roll- 
ing your eyes in such a ridiculous manner ? ’ ’ said the 
old gentleman ; " what adventure ? ” 

"Just imagine, sir, that, two hours ago, M. De 
Morville sent a letter to the post-office.” 

"Well?” 

"By Joseph.” 

"And then? Why don’t you go on? Do you 
want us to pull out your words, one by one, as the 
dentist pulls out teeth?” exclaimed the old gentle- 
man, while M. and Madame De Morville, more and 
more uneasy at their uncle’s late revelation, and sus- 
pecting Madame Pivolet of one of her usual tricks, 
paid little attention to what she said. 


68 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘‘Joseph took the letter/^ resumed the house- 
keeper, “but in place of taking a horse, he took the 
wagon, and besides, as the steward’s wife wanted to 
go to the village, Joseph took her along too.” 

“ Well ! what is there extraordinary in all that ? ” 

“ Wait a moment, sir, we’re coming to it. — ^Joseph 
starts and arrives safe in the village. Now, then, we 
have Joseph in the village and the wagon along with 
him. ’ ’ 

“ Oh ! go to fury ! ” exclaimed M. De Botardiere. 
“You’re a regular old bore.” 

“Excuse me, sir, but really it is incredible! He 
was putting up his horses at the inn, when what should 
arrive but the diligence from Paris. ’ ’ 

“ May the plague seize all the diligences in France 
and everybody in them 1 ’ ’ 

“Ah 1 sir, you are more in the right, perhaps, than 
you think for.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“You shall hear, sir. While the diligence changed 
horses, a woman, wrapped up in a shawl, her face 
closely concealed by a thick veil, could be seen to 
leave it very cautiously. Her travelling companions, 
men with long beards and a very gallows look, re- 
mained inside without stirring, but their eyes closely 
followed all her movements. It even appears that 
just as she left the carriage they made her some mys- 
terious signs,' and it is further said that one of them 
carried an enormous dagger.” 

“A dagger I ” said M. De Botardiere, swallowing 
the housekeeper’s bait, hook and all, “and this veiled 
woman ? ’ ’ 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


69 


This veiled woman in her turn made a sign to 
the conductor, and all at once-^all at once ” — 

‘‘ Well ! what happened all at once ? ” 

All at once, the conductor took down her 
trunk ! ” 

‘‘What! — serve me right. A regular sell! — 

Pivolet, make yourself scarce, or ” 

“ No, sir, it is no sell ; for that trunk was what you 
might call of a square shape, covered all over with 
strange figures formed of brass nails. When the 
trunk was down, the veiled woman entered the inn, 
and still shrouding herself in the most impenetrable 
mystery, she asked in a low voice the way to the 
Chateau Morville, and if she could be conveyed 
there, at no matter what price, offering for that pur- 
pose, it is said, such sums ! oh ! such sums ! in short, 
as much as any one pleased to ask. ’ * 

At these words, M. and Madame De Morville, 
were very much surprised. They had been listening 
with little attention to the housekeeper’s story, 
though to do her justice, they knew that all her fabu- 
lous exaggerations rested on something real. She 
turned a mouse into an elephant, it is true, still she 
always had the mouse ; she changed a molehill into 
a mountain, but she always had the molehill to build 
on. 

“ Hah ! ” cried M. De Botardi^re, more and more 
interested, “the veiled woman asked the way to the 
Chateau Morville?” 

“ Yes, sir, but still without lifting her veil, still 
surrounding herself with the most mysterious precau- 
tions, and always keeping a very sharp eye on that 
trunk.” 


70 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘‘Is it a very astonishing thing that she should not 
like to lose her trunk? 

“But, sir, who knows what may be the contents 
of that trunk? I have seen and heard of trunks 
that ’’ 

“ Madame Pivolet,” interrupted Madame De Mor- 
ville, “ if you don’t cut it very short, if you continue 
to abuse our uncle’s patience in your absurd way, I 
shall show him by your laist story what little faith can 
be placed in your narrative, and what a ridiculous 
mania you have of making much out of nothing.” 

This menace produced some effect on the house- 
keeper, for she continued without any further cir- 
cumlocution : 

“Joseph was at the inn at the moment when the 
veiled woman asked the way to the chateau. He 
told her that he was M. De Morville’s coachman, that 
he had brought his steward’s wife to the village, that 
he was waiting to take her back, and that, if the 
veiled woman had any commission for the chateau, 
he would be very happy to take charge of it. Then, 
sir,” continued the housekeeper, slowly, exulting 
beforehand in the effect she was about to produce, 
“ the mysterious stranger told Joseph that she was 
expected at the Chateau Morville, and that she 
would take advantage of the steward’s wife’s com- 
pany to return with her in the wagon, but still never 
separating herself, for no consideration, from that 
trunk.” 

M. and Madame De Morville, greatly surprised, 
for they were expecting no visitors, had not inter- 
rupted the housekeeper, but M. De Morville now 
demanded impatiently ; 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR A INK. 


71 

And what did Joseph do ? 

‘‘Joseph, seeing Madame Dubreuil, the steward’s 
wife, come up at that moment, acquainted her with 
the request of the mysterious stranger. She told 
him that since the veiled lady was expected at the 
chateau, they could of course all go there to- 
gether. ’ ’ 

“What!” exclaimed M. De Morville, “the lady 
is come here then with the steward’s wife ? ” 

“Excuse me, sir,” replied the housekeeper, who 
did not give up her prey so easily and never ex- 
ploded her catastrophes prematurely, “you must 
know ’ ’ 

“Then she has remained in^;he village?” asked 
Madame De Morville. 

“You shall see in a moment, Madame, allow me 
to finish.” 

“And no visitor is expected here? ” said M. De 
Botardiere to his nephew and niece; “nobody has 
written to you ? ” 

“Nobody, uncle;” replied M. De Morville, “so 
I am almost certain that the lady is not coming here. 
But Pivolet, go on quick — what has become of this 
unknown lady ? ” 

“ The steward’s wife having offered to take her to 

the chateau Ah 1 I forgot an important item. 

The strange woman, besides that trunk and her car- 
pet bag, had in her hand a morocco case about the 
size of a sheet of letter paper, very flat, and ” 

“Stop this nonsense,” cried M. De Morville. 
“ Did the lady remain at the village? ” 

“Oh! sir, if you perplex me in this way, I shall 
never come to an end. I don’t know where I was.” 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


^'Oh! what patience!** exclaimed M. De Mor- 
ville, what patience 1 ** 

‘‘Ah ! now I remember ! ** resumed Madame Pivd- 
let, “ the steward’s wife having offered to take her to 
the chateau, the veiled woman accepted the proposal 
immediately, but, still restless and uneasy about that 
trunk, she would not enter the wagon until she saw it 
fastened carefully up behind. Then she got in, and 
both ** 

“Are in the chateau now! ** exclaimed M. De Bo- 
tardiere; “why did you not tell us that at first? 
Ah ! Pi volet, if you were my housekeeper, I’d teach 
you how to spin a yarn, with a good stick ! ’ * 

“But this lady,” demanded M. De Morville 
quickly, “where is she now? Answer! Is she at 
the steward’s house or is she here? ” 

Pivolet looked around with a frightened air, and 
fumbled in her pocket, whence she finally extricated 
a card, saying in a low voice : 

“ The strange lady is down stairs, in the summer 
drawing-room. She gave me this card for Madame. ’ * 
M. De Morville, stamping impatiently, snatched 
the card out of the housekeeper’s hand, and read 
aloud and mechanically, the name — 

“ Miss Mary O’Connor.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINR, 


73 


CHAPTER V. 

THE DEBATE. 

At the name of Miss O’Connor, thus so unexpect- 
edly found on the visiting card, and so unexpectedly 
read aloud by M. De Morville, that gentleman, his 
wife, and M. De Botardiere, almost simultaneously 
burst out into different exclamations. 

‘‘ She must have anticipated the appointed day of 
her departure from Ireland 1 ’ ’ cried Madame De 
Morville. 

She cannot possibly be the same person that my 
uncle met in the diligence ! ’ ’ cried M. De Morville, 
in mortal anguish. 

Oh ! this is too much ! ” cried M. De Botardiere 
in his turn, extremely incensed. ‘‘ How ! that adven- 
turess, that scorpion, that scourge, to come to perse- 
cute me even here ! what insolence ! what effrontery ! ’ ’ 

What ! the mysterious lady an adventuress ! I 
thought so,” exclaimed Madame Pivolet in her turn; 
“ I suspected something of the kind all along. Ma- 
dame, perhaps she is the ‘Female Bandit ! Those 
black-looking fellows with long beards, armed to the 
teeth with daggers and pistols and carbines, who 
made her so many secret signs as she was leaving the 
carriage, must be her followers ! They have made 
their plan. The chateau is lonely. Oh ! we shall cer- 
tainly be murdered to-night ! Yes, my dear master 
and mistress, it’s all over with us ! ” 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 


74 

And very little more would have made her begin 
screaming murder ! 

M. and Madame De Morville were so confounded, 
so perplexed, that they let Madame Pivolet give full 
vent to her teeming fancies. So, seeing that she 
received no answer from them, she turned to M. De 
Botardiere, and suddenly seized his arm with her 
trembling hand, saying: — 

‘‘Sir, don’t you think she is a Female Bandit? 
She has secret poisons in that morocco case, and all 
kinds of combustibles in that trunk. That’ s the rea- 
son she would never lose sight of it. It’s all clear 
now. The chateau is to be pillaged and burned to- 
night: Not a stone shall be left on a stone ! ” 

And then very little more would have made her 
begin screaming fire ! 

“There’s one thing certain about the matter 
anyway,” said the rancorous, but very clearheaded, 
old gentleman. — “I require this adventuress to be 
driven from the chateau without a moment’s 
delay!” 

“ I will run and execute your orders, sir ; I will 
get all the servants armed,” cried the housekeeper, 
heroically ; “her accomplices cannot be far off. They 
must be the rascals that fired at Monsieur De Botar- 
diere ! Crime will out-! Oh, the greatness of 
Providence 1 Yes, sir. I’ll run right off and send 
Joseph to the village for the gendarmerie ! ” 

And the housekeeper was rushing to the door, 
when M. De Morville seized her violently by the 
arm, saying shortly ; 

“ Stop there 1 ” 

Then turning to M. De Botardiere : 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


75 


Uncle/* said he, the affair must be one thing 
or the other. Either the lady down stairs is 
Mademoiselle Mary O’Connor, an English governess 
recommended to us most strongly by my brother 
Augustus, and in that case it is impossible for her 

to be the person with whom you have travelled ’ ’ 

Impossible ! why impossible ? ” 

Because, Augustus, whom you know as well as I 
do, would never send us as governess for my 
daughter, any one but a person perfectly honorable. ’ ’ 
“Your brother Augustus, indeed ! ” said the old 
man, “a simpleton ! a crackbrain ! a pretty guar- 
antee truly ! He has let himself be duped by the 
adventuress, that’s all ! ” 

“Excuse me, dear uncle,*’ replied Madame De 
Morville, in a mild and firm voice; “we are con- 
vinced that in a circumstance so delicate and so seri- 
ous, my brother-in-law has acted with extreme 
circumspection and that his choice was excellent.** 
“Oh, then,** cried the old man, highly exasper- 
ated, “ I’m a goose, an idiot, a numskull, incapable 
of distinguishing a well bred lady from a vulgar, 
impudent thing that caused me a thousand vexations 
during that infernal journey ! ** 

“We have no doubt of the perfect accuracy of 
what you have told us, uncle,** said M. De Morville, 
“ only it is evident that there are two Mesdemoiselles 
O’Connor. The one that is just arrived here, and 
who without doubt is provided with a letter of 
introduction from my brother, is one, and the 
woman who travelled with you, and who is at this 

moment where 1 neither know nor care ** 

“It is quite clear,” interrupted Madame De Mor- 


76 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


ville, that is the only means of explaining the 
affair. The name O’Connor is quite common in 
England.” 

To the bottom of the sea with every one of the 
name ! ” cried the old man. ‘‘If they’re all alike, 
drowning is too good for the best of them ! ’ ’ 

The door of the chamber opened suddenly, and 
Alphonsine ran in exclaiming : 

“ Oh ! Pa and Ma, do you know what? Miss Mary 
is come ! She is down stairs in the drawing-room. 
I have just been talking with her. ’ ’ 

“What! have you seen her already?” asked 
Madame De Morville. 

“I was going through the summer drawing-room 
to get my uncle’s apartment ready, when all at once 
I saw a young lady, oh 1 so pretty, so very pretty 
that I was struck quite motionless, the more so as I 
had not expected to see any one at all there. She 
arose, approached me, and said in French, »with a 
sweet and timid air, ‘ It is perhaps with Mademoi- 
selle De Morville that I have the honor of speaking?* 
‘Yes, Mademoiselle.’ Then she took a letter out of 
a little bag which she carried in her hand, and 
handed it to me, saying : ‘ Have the goodness. 

Mademoiselle, to give Madame De Morville, to 
whom I have already sent my card, this letter from 
M. Auguste De Morville, the French consul at 
Dublin.’ At these words I remembered the gov- 
erness that uncle Augustus was to send us, and I 
replied: ‘Then you must be Miss Mary O’Con- 
nor?’ ‘Yes, Mademoiselle; I left Dublin a little 
sooner than I had at first intended, and I took the 
diligence at Calais about eight days ago. ’ ’ ’ 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


■77 


‘‘It is she!’* cried M. De Botardiere ; “it is 
that ” 

“Uncle!” said M. De Morville hastily to the 
old man, “remember my daughter’s presence. I 
maintain, on my honor, that you are completely 
mistaken. Therefore, I entreat you not to forget 
that from this moment Miss Mary is Alphonsine’s 
governess. ’ ’ 

“Oh! I’m mistaken!” said the old gentleman ; 
“ may be so.” 

And approaching Alphonsine, who, not under- 
standing the meaning of the words exchanged 
between her father and M. De Botardiere, looked 
at both with a surprised and uneasy air, — 

“ Niece,” said he, “you say that this young lady 
took the diligence at Calais eight days ago ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes, uncle, so she has told me.” 

“ What is she like ? ” 

“ Oh ! pretty, adorably pretty ! and her expres- 
sion so sweet, so good ! Mamma, just imagine 
Mademoiselle Lagrange, with perfect beauty be- 
sides. ’ ’ 

“Beautiful, I don’t deny it,” replied the old 
man, hastily. “ What color is her hair? ” 

“ Light chestnut.” 

“ That’s so. And blue eyes ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ She wears a straw bonnet, lined with pink ? ” 

“ Yes, uncle. Why, you must have seen her 
too?” 

“ Well, I have had that honor, probably. Her 
shawl is tartan, with white and green squares, and 
her boots of the same pattern, only smaller.” 


78 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


‘‘Yes, uncle,’’ replied the girl, more and more 
surprised, whilst M. De Botardi^re, smiling with 
an air triumphant and cruel, turned round to M. 
and Madame De Morville, saying : — 

“Well ! you see I was a numskull, and completely 
mistaken. You maintained it on your honor ^ Mr. 
Nephew ! ’ ’ 

“Mamma,” added the young girl, more and 
more astounded at the angry air of her uncle, and 
giving her mother the letter she had just received 
from Miss Mary, “ here is the introduction from my 
uncle in Dublin. But, is neither father nor you 
going down to receive Miss Mary? She has been 
waiting alone ever so long ! ’ ’ 

“My child,” said her father, seeing his uncle 
ready to break out at the very idea of Miss Mary’s 
being at all received, “ go you, and keep company 
for a little while with Miss Mary ; your mother and 
I will join you in a few minutes.” 

The young girl, extremely perplexed, left the 
room before M. De Botardiere could utter a word; 
but, he soon exclaimed, in a burst of furious indig- 
nation : — 

“ How ! After all I have told you, you presume 
to insult me by receiving this creature ! Eternal 
death ! I can’t believe it ! ” 

“Madame Pivolet,” said M. De Morville, who 
had, till that moment, forgotten the presence of the 
housekeeper, and now seeing her stealing towards the 
door, either to have a good look at the Female Ban- 
dit, or to mystify the servants with this new and 
strange adventure, “ you go right straight into this 
cabinet, if you please.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 75 

And he pointed to the door of a kind of little 
boudoir opening out of the chamber. 

‘‘Into that cabinet, sir?^’ said Madame Pivolet, 
decidedly demurring. “ Oh ! what for, sir? 

“ To stay there till I let you out. Come, 
quick ! ” added M. De Morville, roughly, opening 
the door and offering to push her in by the 
shoulders. “ In with you.’^ 

“ But, sir, this is putting me into prison 1 cried 
Madame Pivolet, in a whining tone, obeying her 
master’s orders however; “this is putting me into a 
dpngeon ! You might as well chain me at once and 
fling me into a black-hole ! Then, sir, I have not had 
any breakfast yet, sir ; you want to starve me, sir, to 
torture me, to ” 

The remaining words of Madame Pivolet were 
unfortunately lost to her auditors, for M. De Mor- 
ville pushed her into the cabinet, double-locked the 
door, and then approaching M. De Botardiere, said 
to him in a respectful but firm tone : — 

“ Uncle, I address myself to your honor, to the 
affection you bear us, and, if necessary, I will 
invoke the venerated memory of my mother, your 
sister, to implore you to assist us in a circumstance 
as. difficult as it is inexplicable.” 

“Inexplicable? After all I have told you ! After 
all you have heard your daughter say ! — ^Are you 
mocking me ? What ! can you possibly still have 
the least doubt as to the identity of this adventuress, 
of this impudent hussey ? ’ ’ 

“At present, uncle, unless I believe in doubles y 
which I don’t, or in an absolute coincidence of a 
thousand particulars, which is still more difficult of 


so 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


belief, I have no doubt that you have travelled 
with the Miss Mary O’Connor that we were expect- 
ing and who is now down stairs in the drawing- 
room.” 

Well then ! drive her out of your house at once, 
and put an end to the thing : it has lasted too long 
already. ’ ’ 

Have the kindness to break the seal of this letter 
from my brother Augustus, and to read it.” 

What’s the use ? ” 

I ask it as a favor; I implore you to doit, 
uncle.” 

The old gentleman, shrugging his shoulders with 
an angry impatience, read the letter whilst M. and 
Madame De Morville exchanged a few words in a 
low voice. 

‘‘Well! what does this letter prove?” said M. 
De Botardiere. “ It proves' nothing at all, except 
that your brother has been the dupe of one no 
better than she should be. ’ ’ 

“In that, sir,” said Madame De Morville, “our 
opinion is completely different from y©urs. Miss 
O’Connor is not, can not be what you say.” 

M. De Botardiere could not believe his ears, and 
said : 

“Repeat that over again.” 

“ I take the liberty to observe,” said Madame De 
Morville, “ that we are quite convinced that my 
brother-in-law has not been a dupe in the choice 
of the governess that he has been so kind as to 
send us.” 

“Ah I that’s it, is it? ” said the old gentleman in 
a sardonic tone; “ then it follows that I am a liar. 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR A IN E, 81 

and that I have invented, like another Pivolet, 
everything that I told you regarding this adven- 
turess and her gallant ? ” 

‘‘ My dear and good uncle, don’t let yourself get 
angry, I implore you,” said M. De Morville, with 
as much deference as affection, not however without 
a slight embarrassment. ‘‘We are between Scylla 
and Charybdis. We must either send away, as 
unworthy, a young lady most highly recommended 
by my brother, or believe that your memory has not 
been perfectly faithful with regard to several particu- 
lars of your journey with Miss O’Connor.” 

“Ah, then, I’m doting ! I’m in my second child- 
hood ! why not get me shut up in a lunatic asylum 
at once ? ” 

“ Excuse me, uncle,” said M. De Morville, “it 
often happens to the best of us to fail a little in 
memory. This is no unusual cause of many invol- 
untary misconceptions. ’ ’ 

“It is possible also,” added Madame De Mor- 
ville, “that irritated, as indeed was natural enough, 
by the annoyance of an unpleasant, tedious journey, 
you were in a state of mind highly unfavorable to do 
justice to Miss O’Connor, and that deceived 
unawares by appearances ” 

“Appearances! when that insolent De Favrolle, in 
spite of my gray hair, overwhelmed me with his im- 
pertinence all the time, at the instigation of this 
Jezebel ! ” 

“The circumstance of the supposed relationship 
between M. De Favrolle and Miss Mary, true enough, 
uncle, seems rather incomprehensible. Still, pardon 

me for insisting on this point, are you quite certain 
s 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


that your memory is perfectly exact regarding those 
unbecoming familiarities which you say you have 
remarked between Miss Mary and M. De Favrolle? ** 
Eternal death ! cried the old man, in a tone as 
exasperated as it was indignant, I believe I’m in- 
sulted so far as to have my words doubted! I’m 
subjected to cross-examination 1 This is a pitch of 
presumption ’ ’ 

‘‘But, sir,” interrupted Madame De Morville, 
“the question is, as my husband has told you, if we 
are to drive from here in disgrace a young lady whom 
we have every reason to believe to be most highly 
honorable. I am a mother, sir, and at this moment 
I feel how much I should be hurt if I heard my 
daughter calumniated.” 

“la calumniator, Madame!” exclaimed M. De 
Botardiere. “ Ah ! this is pretty treatment ! ” 

And rising from his seat, he took out his watch, 
saying : 

“It’s now two o’clock. I’m going into my room. 
If this adventuress is not sent away from here, in my 
presence, by three o’clock, I return to Botardiere, 
and you shall never lay eyes on me again. Indeed, 
I should start off this moment, only in consideration 
for my sister’s memory which you have invoked, I 
force myself to have pity on you, and to give you 
time for reflecting. But take care ! Once my reso- 
lution is taken, no tears or supplications can ever 
alter it. It shall be a separation forever. Good-bye 
for an hour, sir. I’ll await your decision patiently.” 

“One word more, sir,” replied M. De Morville, 
in a tone full of dignity, “it would give me profound 
grief to lose your friendship. But I would have the 


OJi, LIFE IN TOURAINE. S3 

courage to resign myself even to that cruel sacrifice 
sooner than condemn the humblest creature to dis- 
grace, without giving him the means of justifying 
himself/^ 

‘‘As you please, sir!*^ said M. De Botardiere; 
“in an hour I shall have the opportunity of testing 
these chivalrous sentiments, Mr. Don Quixote of 
distressed damsels ! * ’ 

And the impracticable old man rushed furiously 
out of the room. 

M. De Morville, seeing himself alone with his wife, 
observed : “Indeed, my dear, it takes every particle 
of my respect for the brother of my mother to con- 
tain myself : his violence, stubbornness, and overbear- 
ingness are beyond all bounds. His temper is 
becoming actually intolerable.^* 

“There is no denying, mon ami, that, for many 
reasons, this unexpected arrival of Miss Mary has put 
me out a good deal. This morning I spoke to you 
with entire frankness ; then I have had a long con- 
versation with Alphonsine from which I derived the 
most flattering hopes. All my future happiness is 
now threatened, and my heart sinks at the idea. 
Still, it would be mean in us to yield blindly to your 
uncle’s outrageous demands.” 

“ Did you ever see the like ? ” 

“ His order to drive away poor Robert for an in- 
voluntary fault, is a new proof of his domineering, 
intractable spirit, which is getting worse and worse 
every day. But for that inexplicable, pretended rela- 
tionship between Miss Mary and young De Favrolle, 
I could easily understand how your uncle took a dis- 
like to the young lady, because she may have been 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE : 


H 

the involuntary cause of several unpleasant remarks 
and coarse jokes from the other travellers, tasteless 
and vulgar, no doubt, but which uncle brought on 
himself by his selfish, despotic and irritable disposi- 
tion/* 

‘‘ Certainly ! It is a new edition of what I told 
Augustus in my letter this morning. Whenever my 
uncle brought me to the theatre, he rendered him- 
self insupportable to his neighbors, and at the first 
reply, he retired behind his gray hair, and put me 
forward to bear the brunt.** 

‘‘And, in this unfortunate journey, as he had not 
you with him to take his part, he must have laid him- 
self open to a thousand inflictions. I understand all 
that. But this pretended fraternity of M. De Fav- 
rolle with Miss O’Connor? It must be true. Your 
uncle does not know the young man, and yet he has 
given us his name. And then these unbecoming 
familiarities, said to have passed between the thought- 
less young man and Miss Mary ! I admit that your 
uncle exaggerates, but nevertheless this is a very grave 
consideration.** 

“ Still, how can we suppose Augustus to be so in- 
credibly deceived as to Miss O’Connor? ** 

“ In his desire to relieve an unfortunate family, he 
may have shut his eyes on many things.** 

“Oh! Louise, do you think so? The question 
was to obtain a governess for our daughter, and that 
my brother, a man of sense and feeling, should have 
been so thoughtless — oh 1 I can*t entertain the 
ideal** 

“Well, be it so. But this pretended relationship 
with a young fellow of twenty-two? ** 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $5 

“Louise, we can^t keep Miss O’Connor waiting 
any longer. Our delay in going to receive her must 
appear very strange, if not insulting. Put yourself 
in her place. She is three hundred leagues from her 
native land, and alone. She arrives in a house where 
she has a right to expect a kind reception, and here 
we have left her more than an hour down stairs. It 
is cruel treatment. We must decide on something 
without any more delay.”- 

“On what? Question her on the facts asserted 
by your uncle ? ’ ’ 

“ No, that would be an insult.” 

“ Still, mon amt, we must take your uncle’s story 
into some consideration. As for me, in the first 
place, I can never trust my daughter to any one on 
whom the slightest shadow of suspicion rests.” 

“ Neither can I, of course. But once more, what 
course to take? Remember she is waiting for us, 
and every moment of delay renders her position and 
ours more difficult and painful.” 

“ Oh ! my gracious ! let her wait ! so much the 
worse for her ! ’ ’ cried Madame De Morville, in a 
tone of impatient suffering ; “ why was she in such a 
hurry to come ? ’ ’ 

“Ah! Louise, that’s hard, and scarcely just. 
Mademoiselle O’Connor, in her zeal to please us, 
has come as soon as possible.” 

“You are right, my dear husband. What I have 
just said is odious. Poor thing 1 she was afraid of 
losing a situation not to be met with every day. 
Yes, I tell you that sometimes I hardly recognize 
myself any longer. This poor girl must have been 
born under a bad star to have come here.” 


S6 THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
of Alphonsine. 

‘‘ How, my child,’* said M. De Morville to her, in 
a tone of slight reproach, you have left Mademoi- 
selle O’Connor alone, instead of keeping her com- 
pany until we can see her ourselves.” 

^‘Excuse me, father,” replied the girl, timidly, 

but I think I have been right in coming here. If 
you only knew how the poor young lady becomes 
more and more embarrassed every moment ! She is 
as much surprised as uneasy at seeing neither you nor 
mother. My heart bleeds for her. Not that she has 
expressed by any means her astonishment at your 
apparent forgetfulness. On the contrary, she kept 
on talking of my uncle in Dublin and of his family 
with the deepest gratitude. But I easily saw that at 
not seeing you make your appearance, her face got 
sadder and sadder; I think I even saw tears start 
from her eyes. Then I took it on myself to say ; 
‘ Mademoiselle, you must not be surprised at not 
having as yet seen any sign of Papa and Mamma. 
They are just now closely engaged with one of my 
granduncles, who has just arrived from a long jour- 
ney, and whom they have not seen for a long 
time.’ ” 

‘‘Very well said, indeed, my dear child,” said 
her father tenderly, “your heart has served you 
well.” 

“I think so. Papa; for my words seemed to relieve 
Mademoiselle O’Connor of a great weight. Her 
face expanded and I thought she looked at me most 
thankfully. So, seeing me rise, she said, ‘ Do not, I 
beg of you. Mademoiselle, disturb M. and Madame 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. gl 

De Morville on my account. It is only quite natural 
that they should spend some time with a dear relation 
after a long journey ! * But, notwithstanding that, I 
have come as fast as I could to tell you that I am not 
at all afraid of Miss Mary, and that I am glad that 
your letter for my uncle in Dublin, of which of course 
I have not said a word, started a little too late, for I 
think Miss Mary will fully console me for the loss of 
Mademoiselle Lagrange. ’ * 

‘‘My dear Louise,**' said M. De Morville to his 
wife, “it is impossible to keep Mademoiselle 
O’Connor waiting any longer.** 

“But, mon replied Madame De Morville 

uneasily, giving her husband an intelligent glance, 
“ have you fully reflected? ** 

“Yes, don*t be uneasy, I have reflected on every- 
thing,** replied M. De Morville, giving in turn his 
wife a glance to show that he had understood her. 
“Let us go down to the drawing-room.** 

Just as they’ were leaving the apartment, Alphon- 
sine started, and said : 

“ Oh ! Lord, father, did you hear that groan in the 
cabinet ? * * 

“It*s only Pivolet,** said her father: “I under- 
stand the matter. You go and wait for us in your 
little study room.** 

“You will bring Miss Mary there soon, father, 
won*t you? I want to show her my books and 
sketches and things.** 

“Go, and wait for us there, my child,** was his 
only reply to his daughter, who immediately left the 
room. 

“But, in short, mon amiy^ asked Madame De 


88 


THE CHAtEAU M ORVILLE I 


Morville, ^^what are you going to say to Mademoi- 
selle O’Connor? ” 

“ I have my plan. We can clear up everything 
without giving her the least pain.” 

Saying this, M. De Morville proceeded to unchain 
Madame Pivolet, who came out of her dungeon, 
uttering the most tragical groans. She was just get- 
ting ready to launch out on the splendid subject of 
her disenthralme7it from the Bastille and the untold 
fangs of starvation, when M. De Morville cut her 
short by saying, in a distinct, severe, and peremptory 
tone : 

Madame Pivolet, I want you to listen attentively 
to what I am going to say. You have heard my un- 
cle speak of a young lady with, whom he travelled in 
the diligence. Through a mistake, he has con- 
founded that young lady with the Mademoiselle 
O’Connor, who has just arrived in the chateau. I 
declare to you now, most solemnly, that if you re- 
peat to any person whatsoever the words uttered by 
my uncle, in a moment when he lay under a mistake, 
you shall not remain in my service twenty-four hours. 
Don’t interrupt me. I do not forget that you have 
been my daughter’s nurse, or that you have been a 
very faithful servant. I will provide for your main- 
tenance, but, I repeat it, I am begifining to get tired 
of your lies and your follies. On the very first repe- 
tition of this offence, you shall quit this house, never 
again to enter it. Remember Dupont. He was 
thirty years in my mother’s service, but he too 
abused our indulgence. So we gave him a pension, 
and sent him off about his business.— That is all.” 

After saying these words in a firm tone, which did 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


89 


not allow of the least doubt regarding the strict ful- 
filment of his threat, M. De Morville hurried off with 
his wife to wait on Mademoiselle O’Connor. 

Scarcely were they out of sight before Madame 
Pivolet exclaimed : 

Yes, he’d do it ! He has the heart, after all I 
have done for them, nursing and slaving for nearly 
twenty years, to allow me a pension and ship me off ! 
That is the way he served old Dupont. He daren’t 
show his face again in the house, no, not if he was to 
gain Heaven by it ! That’s the gratitude of masters 
to poor servants now-a-days ! Ah ! my fine young 
Englishwoman, 7^?/^’// pay me for it all, and dearly 
tool” 


5 ^ 


90 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE GOVERNESS. 

Monsieur and Madame De Morville found Miss 
O’Connor sitting in the drawing-room. She rose 
and hastened to meet them with a movement full of 
modesty and grace. 

‘^Mademoiselle,” said Monsieur De Morville, 
with a little embarrassment, “have the goodness to 
excuse us for being so long about coming to welcome 
you to Chateau Morville.” 

“I knew already, sir, from Mademoiselle De 
Morville, that you were engaged with one of your 
relations just returned from a long journey.” 

“Yes, Mademoiselle,” said M. De Morville, 
giving his wife a significant glance, unperceived by 
Miss Mary, who timidly kept her eyes lowered : “I 
even think M. De Botardiere, my uncle, had the 
honor of travelling with you from Calais to Paris. ’ ’ 

At the name of that surly old fellow. Miss O’ Con- 
nor looked rather surprised, but her features did 
not betray the least embarrassment. She only 
raised her eyes to M. De Morville, saying simply — 

“Ah! sir, I’m very much afraid I have been the 
means, though much against my will, of perhaps 
rendering that journey disagreeable to your uncle.” 

“How was that. Mademoiselle?” asked Madame 
De Morville. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


91 


Madame, I fear that the details, which are quite 
personal, should hardly deserve attention.** 

‘‘On the contrary. Mademoiselle,** said M. De 
Morville, “nothing that concerns you can be 
indifferent to us.** 

“Well, sir, arriving alone in Calais,** said Miss 
Mary, “I found myself very much embarrassed; an 
old servant of my family, whom I met by accident 
in the diligence office, had given me a warning of 
some unpleasant experiences that I was to meet with 
during the journey.** 

“Experiences of what nature, Mademoiselle?** 
asked Madame De Morville. 

“The old servant had heard two young men, who 
were to travel with us,'-speak lightly about me,** 
added Miss Mary, deeply blushing. — “They saw me 
alone, — they did not know who I was, and one of 
them, in the levity of his youth, uttered some 
expressions neither honorable to himself nor flatter- 
ing to me.** 

“ Infamous ! ** exclaimed M. De Morville. “ No- 
thing is more sacred than a woman alone and 
without protection.** 

“I hasten to add,’* resumed Miss Mary, “that 
the young man who had. permitted himself to 
mistake so strangely in my regard, having nobly and 
generously repaired, during the journey, the evil 
thought of a moment, has left me no regret for 
having taken a step, which, however, you must 
consider rather singular. * * 

“ What step was it. Mademoiselle ? ** 

“Seeing myself alone for the first time of my life 
in a foreign land, learning that I was the only 


0^ THE CHAtEAU MORVJLLE: 

woman in the diligence, deriving but little courage 
from the rough, noisy merriment of several of my 
travelling companions, warned regarding the few 
words that had dropped from one of the young men 
I have mentioned, Madame, exaggerating perhaps 
the consequences of their levity, and, above all, 
dreading, I confess, to be reduced to that extremity 
always so humiliating, so painful for a woman, that 
of being obliged to insist on the respect that is one’s 
due, — I frankly asked the very one of the two young 
men who had so lightly judged me, to take me 
under his protection during the journey. And in 
order that this protection might appear reasonable 
and proper, I proposed to M. De Favrolle, that’s his 
name, to pass for his sister. He consented, and I 
must tell you, Madame, that I shall never forget 
with what delicate kindness, with what perfect 
gentlemanliness, M. De Favrolle played the part of 
brother. — You see, Madame, it was rather a forward 
proceeding on my part — but — ” 

^^But I understand it perfectly!” Madame De 
Morville hastened to reply, much affected both by 
Miss Mary’s sincerity and the painful position in 
which she must have been placed. confess to 
you that, in spite of my age, I should be mortally 
afraid of travelling alone in a public coach, and I 
would have acted exactly like you, Mademoiselle, if 
the lucky thought had only occurred to me. With 
this difference, however,” added Madame De Mor- 
ville, smiling — I would have asked M. De Favrolle 
to be so good as to pass for my son.” 

We regret sincerely. Mademoiselle,” said M. De 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


93 


Morville, that we are the primary cause of a jour- 
ney that has left you so many painful recollections.’^ 

Yes, sir, they are indeed painful, and now that I 
learn that M. De Botardiere is a relative of yours, 
I’m afraid my presence in that coach must have 
added to the number of his annoyances. For, un- 
fortunately, our companions forgot too often that it 
is only one’s duty to bear in silence a few vexations, 
rather than try to pay them back by mockeries and 
jokes, which were the more to be regretted as they 
were directed against an old man.” 

Between you and me. Mademoiselle,” replied 
M. De Morville with a smile, I may acknowledge 
that my uncle’s temper is not one of the most amia- 
ble. You must have perceived that yourself, and 
perhaps even suffered from it. — We entertain, of 
course, for my mother’s brother all the respect that 
he deserves ; still we know by experience that he is 

subject to a certain roughness of manner ” 

* ‘ Which should be excusable at his age, sir, ’ ’ re- 
plied Miss Mary with a sweet smile; ‘^as for my 
part, — and I now congratulate myself upon it, I as- 
sure you — I never forgot that your uncle had gray 
hair like my own dear father. I regret to say, how- 
ever, that, in two or three instances, M. De Favrolle 
— I will not exactly say, forced to it, but — in short — 
less patient than he should have been, could not, in 
spite of my earnest remonstrances, prevent himself 
from uttering some expressions rather too strong I 
thought under the circumstances, but which, I assure 
you, never passed those bounds which every gentle- 
man should observe.” 

What you say of M. De Favrolle does not sur- 


H 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


prise me at all, Mademoiselle,** replied M. De Mor- 
ville. His father is one of my best friends, and a 
man of honor, if there was ever one. I should be 
surprised indeed if his son — apart from his thought- 
less expressions in your regard, which, however, he 
so nobly and so promptly repaired — should prove to 
be anything else but a perfect gentleman.** 

^‘Ah! sir, since you know M. De Favrolle’s 
father,** said Miss Mary with her usual candor and 
simplicity, you will have the goodness to give me 
his address. I shall send it to my mother to whom 
I have written an account of my journey. She shall 
be only too happy to have it in her power to express 
to M. De Favrolle her deep gratitude for his son’s 
generous conduct towards me.’* 

‘‘Certainly, Mademoiselle, with much pleasure,** 
said M. De Morville, “such a desire is too reason- 
able not to be gratified at once. ’ ’ 

“ But that is not all, sir,” said Miss Mary, smiling, 
“I have another favor to ask of you. Have the 
kindness to present me to your uncle. I want to 
show him that I entertain no spite on account of his 
lively remarks, — pardonable enough, anyway in a per- 
son of his age, who was rendered no doubt a little irri- 
table by the annoyances of a long, irksome journey.” 

“I am sure. Mademoiselle,” said M. De Morville, 
“that my uncle will make every reparation in his 
power for all ” 

“ Good heavens ! sir, that is not what I mean. 
All is past and forgotten now. I only desire to 
deserve the good will of your uncle, as I desire to 
deserve that of every member of a family to whom I 
and mine owe such a debt of gratitude.** 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


95 


‘‘Oh! Mademoiselle ** 

“Why should I not, sir? I wish I could convince 
you that my position in your family is, for my 
parents and myself, a consolation in our reverses fpr 
which we cannot be grateful enough to a kind Provi- 
dence. The more you are convinced of how much 
we owe to you both, sir and madam, the more you 
will feel assured, I hope, of my determination to ful- 
fil, to the best of my power, my duty towards your 
daughter — a task, for that matter, likely to be pleas- 
ant enough, if I can judge from the few minutes I 
have already passed in her society. ’ * 

“ My brother has made us already aware. Madem- 
oiselle, of the valuable aid you can give us in com- 
pleting Alphonsine’s education.** 

“Since you speak of your brother, sir,** replied 
Miss Mary, “permit me to discharge a commission 
he has given me for Madame De Morville.** 

So saying, she opened and presented to Alphon- 
sine*s mother the famous morocco case which had 
excited Madame Pivolet*s imagination so highly, 
and which she had shrewdly suspected to contain 
frightful poisons. 

Scarcely had Madame De Morville cast her eyes 
on the contents of the case, when she cried out to 
her husband with a delighted air : 

“What a splendid likeness, mon ami, of sister-in- 
law and her two children 1 Oh 1 it is excellent I * * 
“In fact,*’ said M. De Morville, “it is almost a 
living, breathing likeness.** 

“And those two little angels,** said Madame De 
Morville, “how prettily they are grouped around 
their mother’s knees ! What a beautiful picture ! ’* 


06 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE, 


‘‘I have never seen anything more perfect/* said 
M. De Morville, who, as well as his wife, continued 
to gaze with new admiration on the pretty little 
aquarelle, as remarkable for the grace of the position, 
the purity of the design, and the excellence of the 
coloring, as for the faithful reproduction of the 
features. 

Indeed your brother Augustus spoils me. He 
could not send me a more charming present,** said 
Madame De Morville, never tired of looking at the 
picture. Then turning to Miss Mary : ‘‘I thank you 
sincerely. Mademoiselle, for having had the good- 
ness to bring me this portrait. But do you know 
that you have in Ireland artists of the first rank ! * * 

‘‘How is that, Madame? ’* asked Miss O’Connor, 
with much simplicity, her modesty having been very 
much disconcerted by the praises bestowed upon the 
picture. 

“Not a doubt of it,’* said M. De Morville, still 
looking at the little water color, “ this aquarelle is 
of a very rare merit.” 

“Indeed, sir, you increase my confusion,” said 
Miss Mary, blushing deeply, “ that aquarelle is my 
work.” 

“Indeed ! Mademoiselle,** said Madame De Mor- 
ville, “your talent for painting is assuredly very 
remarkable. ’ * 

“ Madame, you are too indulgent. The only 
merit of this aquarelle is perhaps the likeness. Your 
sister-in-law gave me a few sittings before my de- 
parture from Dublin. I could not find a better 
opportunity of trying to justify what M. Auguste has 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


97 


had the kindness to write to you regarding my talent 
for drawing.’* 

‘‘But such talent as that, Mademoiselle,” said 
Madame De Morville, “surpasses, I assure you, our 
greatest hopes.” 

At this moment, the piano sounded in the next 
apartment, which was Alphonsine’s study-room, and 
the young girl, after a short prelude commenced to 
play a theme from Mozart, to amuse herself while 
waiting for her new governess. 

“That is Mademoiselle De Morville, isn’t it?” 
asked Miss Mary in a whisper, listening attentively 
to the music. 

“Yes, Mademoiselle,” replied Madame De Mor- 
ville. 

Miss O’Connor continued to listen, with a visible 
satisfaction, involuntarily beating time with her 
pretty little foot, and saying in a low voice : 

“ Good, very good — that’s a little too quick — re- 
markably good — oh ! too quick again. The notes 
are not rendered distinctly enough. But that is 

better, much better Bravo ! that passage has been 

splendidly executed ! ” 

“So, Mademoiselle,” said Madame De Morville, 
charmed at Miss Mary’s sincere approbation, while 
Alphonsine went on playing, “it appears you are 
satisfied. ” 

“Very much so, indeed, Madame; some of these 
phrases have been rendered charmingly, and with ex- 
cellent musical intelligence ; others that were more 
difficult want a little more study and clearness. ’ ’ 

Then rising. Miss Mary pointed to the study room 
door, saying : 


98 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘‘Will you permit me, Madame, to commence my 
duties at once? 

“We should be enchanted to hear you,** said M. 
De Morville, “only we are afraid, Mademoiselle, of 
abusing your kindness. You must want a little rest, 
after your long journey.** 

“ Oh, not at all, sir, I am only too happy to 
discover in your daughter a talent so near perfection, 
and must hasten to inform her of it as soon as 
possible.** 

All entered the study room. Alphonsine, covered 
with blushes at the sight of her new governess, was 
hurrying from the piano, when Miss Mary ap- 
proached her, saying : 

“I have been listening to your execution of this 
piece from Mozart, Mademoiselle. I come to 
congratulate you, and also to make a few observa- 
tions. You see how quick I am to show myself 
strict, or rather, it is not I, it is you, who are strict. 
For the perfect rendering of a great number of 
passages, is the severest criticism possible on those 
that you have not yet studied carefully enough. 
Suppose we commence this piece over again ? * ’ 

“With pleasure. Mademoiselle,’* said Alphonsine, 
sitting down again, charmed with the winning 
manners of her governess. As she played the piece 
over again. Miss Mary made remarks on the different 
passages, full of justice, feeling, and knowledge, 
showing that her musical education had been pro- 
found and extensive. Then, to join practice to 
theory, asking Alphonsine to yield her the stool for 
a moment, she executed the same piece in the best 
style, showing her pupil the passages she had 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


99 


criticised and calling her attention to the difference 
of the rendering ; in short, showing so much talent, 
modesty, and kindness, that Monsieur and Madame 
De Morville, completely charmed and won, could 
not help exchanging glances of the warmest admira- 
tion and satisfaction. 

A servant entering the study room, said to M. De 
Morville : 

‘‘ M. De Botardiere begs you, sir, to be so good 
as to step into his room for a moment? 

This sudden summons rudely reminded M. De 
Morville of what he had completely forgotten. He 
started and looked at his watch. It was exactly 
three o’clock, the hour his angry old uncle had given 
him for deciding whether he would or would not 
send away from his house Robert, the gamekeeper, 
and Miss O’Connor, the governess. 

At the name of M. De Botardiere, Miss Mary said 
with a smile to M. De Morville : 

‘‘Please, sir, don’t forget my wish and your 
promise regarding your uncle.” 

“Oh! no. Mademoiselle,” replied M. De Mor- 
ville, not without embarrassment, and, leaving his 
wife and daughter with Miss Mary, he went to his 
uncle’s room. 

He found M. De Botardiere walking up and 
down the apartment with feverish and angry impa- 
tience. At the sight of his nephew, he stopped and 
asked roughly : 

“ Is that adventuress sent off? ” 

“Uncle, excuse ” 

“ No explanations. Is she off, yes or no? ” 

“But uncle, I ” 


100 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘^Once more, have you sent her off? — yes or 
no?” 

‘‘ No, uncle, and I can ” 

M. De Botardiere ran to the chimney, and pulled 
away at the bell-cord. 

Permit me, uncle, to observe that we generally 
at least listen to people before taking extreme resolu- 
tions. Give me your attention for a few moments, 
and you shall acknowledge yourself how unreason- 
able are your prejudices against Miss O’Connor.” 

A servant coming in to answer the bell, M. De 
Botardiere cried out : — 

Have Ronceval harnessed at once, and let my 
gig be brought to the steps. 

The servant having departed, M. De Morville 
said to his uncle, in a feeling tone : — 

Uncle, you cannot possibly wish to break with us 
forever, merely because I act like an honorable man.” 

'‘What a charming phrase! You call it honor, 
do you ? To expose me, whenever I come here, to 
find myself cheek by jowl with an impudent creature 
w^ho insulted me, and passed off her lover for her 
brother before my face I ’ ’ 

" Miss O’Connor has explained to us in the most 
satisfactory manner how she had been obliged to ask 
M. De Favrolle to protect her, and treat her as a 
sister during the journey.” 

M. De Botardiere burst into a fit of ironic laugh- 
ter. " By Jove, nephew, you are a goose 1 Imposed 
on at your age by such stories ! Ha I ha I ha ! ” 
"Uncle, I implore you, grant Miss O’Connor 
only ten minutes’ conversation; then you’ll see how 
much you’re mistaken in her regard.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, ±01 

‘‘Monsieur De Morville ! ” exclaimed the old 
gentleman, foaming with rage, “such an audacious 
proposal borders on insolence.’^ 

“Excuse me, sir,” replied M. De Morville, with 
difficulty restraining himself, “ such a proposal is 
that of a man who cannot and will not stoop to com- 
mit a base action, even though it should cost him the 
friendship of his mother’s brother.” 

“ Oh ! yes, indeed — friendship ! How much we 
are afraid of losing the old dotard’s friendship!” 
cried the old gentleman, redoubling his irony. “ I 
guess it is his property that we are afraid of losing. 
But that is a property that neither you nor your 
children shall ever touch one penny of! Do you 
understand that, Mr. Don Quixote of distressed 
damsels ? ’ ’ 

At these cutting words, so painful at once to his 
manliness and his dignity, M. De Morville remained 
silent for a moment, but bursting with suppressed 
anger. 

Just then Madame De Morville came in, and said 
to M. De Botardiere : 

“Uncle, I have just seen your gig ready. It is 
not possible that you leave us in this way? ” 

“Ha! ha!” laughed the old gentleman, in the 
most sarcastic tone, “ how much wx are afraid that 
that miserable property is leaving us, rattling away 
as fast as Ronceval’s legs can carry him ! Why don’t 
Alphonsine come and seize the dear old uncle by the 
coat tail, and implore him to stay here, her eyes 
streaming like fountains at the very idea of not com- 
ing in for that property ! ’ ’ 

Madame De Morville, struck dumb at such expres- 


102 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLEi 


sions, looked at her husband as if to ask the cause of 
such a reception. M. De Morville said to her, in a 
firm tone : — 

‘‘ Louise, for the sake of your own dignity, for the 
sake of mine, not one word more 1 One syllable 
more would be a baseness ! ’ * 

A baseness ! said Madame De Morville, more 
and more surprised; ‘‘what do you mean, mon 
ami 

“I’ll explain it to you,” said M. De Botardiere. 
“Just imagine that your husband is decidedly a hero 
of disinterestedness ! nothing less, my dear, and I 
congratulate you on it. I have given him this alter- 
native : to choose between me or that adventuress, 
who is fooling you all. That is to say, pretty 
plainly : choose either her or thirty thousand francs 
a year, half the value of the Botardiere estate, with- 
out counting my personal property, all of which you 
are to inherit after my death. ’ ’ 

“Ah ! sir ! ” exclaimed Madame De Morville, full 
of indignation : then, turning to her husband — “You 
were perfectly right, my dear friend. One word 
more would a baseness.” 

The servant appeared at the door, announcing — 
“ M. De Botardiere’s gig is waiting.” 

The old gentleman took his carpet-bag, advanced 
towards the door, but, before leaving the room, he 
said to M. De Morville : — 

“ I still have compassion on you: I give you, then, 
one more chance, for the last time, to choose be- 
tween my inheritance and the discharge of an impu- 
dent female, who shall dupe you both, and make 
your daughter as bad as herself.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


103 


Excuse me, sir, if I can’t have the honor of ac- 
companying you to the steps,” replied Madame De 
Morville, with an accent of perfect dignity, as she 
gave him a deep parting bow. 

‘‘Good!” cried M. De Morville, clasping his 
wife’s hand, “very good, my dear Louise 1 ” 

M. De Botardiere rushed out of the room, 
slamming the door after him with blind fury, and 
his gig was soon heard rapidly moving down the 
avenue. 


104 


THE CHAtEAU M ORVILLE: 


CHAPTER VII. 

A DOUBTFUL FRIEND; AND A DECIDED ENEMY. 

After the departure of M. De Botardiere, M. and 
Madame De Morville remained silent for a few 
moments. 

This rupture, mon afni, is certainly very disagree- 
able,’’ said Madame De Morville at last to her hus- 
band : ‘‘but, we have done our duty, even if it has 
cost us your uncle’s friendship for ever.” 

. “Thank you, noble and loyal woman! ” replied 
M. De Morville, again warmly clasping his wife’s 
hand. “ Thank you, for having so worthily repelled 
even the very idea of a mean and cowardly conces- 
sion to the caprice of a man so blinded by an unrea- 
sonable prejudice.” 

“ Could I act otherwise, mon ami, after the very 
clear and natural explanation Miss O’Connor has 
given us regarding an incident in her journey, which 
at first sight, I acknowledge, was rather difficult to 
understand ? Besides, as far at least as we have had 
the opportunity of judging, your brother has been 
rather below the mark than above it in his enco- 
miums on Miss Mary.” 

“ Very good, Louise ! Very good indeed ! Bet- 
ter and better 1 ’ ’ 

“What do you mean, mon ami?'^ 

“Well, ril tell you. After the accident that 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. lOo 

brought US Miss O’Connor, whom we no longer ex- 
pected ; and after our long conversation of this 
morning, in which you made such painful avowals — 
the exaggerated nature of which I now see with 
pleasure — I will acknowledge that I was afraid Miss 
Mary would not be received by you as she has been. 
I was afraid that, without partaking of my uncle’s 
absurd pretensions against the young lady ’ ’ 

Listen, anii,^' said Madame De Morville, 
interrupting her husband. I am, you know, a 
woman of impulse, which I always prefer to reflec- 
tion. I have not concealed it from you: Miss 
O’Connor’s arrival has, for several reasons, very seri- 
ously annoyed me, I won’t say quite afflicted me. I 
went down to the drawing-room in a mood very little 
favorable to her. But, to tell the truth, I have found 
it impossible to resist the charm, the frankness, the 
honorableness of the young lady, at once so modest 
and so worthy. What shall I say? I have been 
tempted in spite of myself to admire her rare beauty, 
though the contrast made poor Alphonsine almost 
ugly.” 

Oh ! come now, Louise,” said M. De Morville, 
with a smile. I must be a blinder parent, or, 
rather, keener-sighted than you are ; for I assure you 
that Alphonsine’ s expressive and amiable face loses 
nothing beside the regular and stately beauty of Miss 
Mary’s.” 

Mon ami, you have spoken of exaggeration, but, 
now you are decidedly sinning that way yourself. 
*Miss O’Connor is one of the most perfectly beautiful 
persons I have ever seen ; and, in truth, it is not fair 
to compare her to Alphonsine.” 

6 


106 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


Far from that ! I take good care not to compare 
them. Why should I? Alphonsine has her attrac- 
tion, Miss Mary hers. Are there not people as rich 
and as happy with ten thousand francs a year as 
others with a hundred thousand ? ’ * 

‘^Alphonsine and her brother are in no danger 
any longer of being exposed to that kind of happi- 
ness.’* 

“I do not understand you.” 

“I know your uncle; his resolution is unchange- 
able ; it is, then, at least twenty-five or thirty thou- 
sand francs a year that our children lose to-day.” 

“It is a misfortune — but what remedy for it? ” 
“None, assuredly, none whatever; what is done 
is done. But you will acknowledge, at least, that 
Miss O’Connor is not what people call 2, gods end ^ 
“Louise, is it you I hear speaking you who so 
nobly replied to the last and most insulting words of 
my uncle ? ’ ’ 

“ Oh! Heaven, mon ami^ I do not regret what I 
have done ; I would do the same thing over again 
probably. But you can’t prevent me from thinking 
that if disinterestedness and justice are fine senti- 
ments, they are sometimes rather costly.” 

“ That is just what I shall try to do — prevent you 
from thinking,' replied M. De Morville affection- 
ately. “You have told me yourself — and it is true — 
that your first impulse is always right. Why so ? 
because you follow the noble teachings of your 
heart. Where is the good then in thinking? 
Thinking may spoil everything. I will not permit 
you then, Madame Louise,” added M. De Morville 
with a pleasant smile, “to do any such thing as 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. X07 

thinking. Yes, I shall be tyrant enough to prevent 
you. from regretting the first impulses of your heart, 
which are always so just, tender and true/* 

‘‘If you can do so, mon ami^ I will bless your 
tyranny. For, you are right; I have been, like 
yourself, shocked and offended both at your uncle’s 
insulting expressions in our regard, and his injustice 
towards Miss O’Connor. Still, this moment, I have 
been almost blaming the poor thing for our 
children’s disinheritance. What a strange thing 
is the human heart ! ’ ’ 

“ Certainly ; but these contrasts, these inconsis- 
tencies, these sudden changes, in our manner of 
seeing and feeling, brought about by thinkings do 
no harm when we keep them to ourselves. We are 
acquainted with each other to our very innermost 
souls. But suppose that the unjust idea of blaming 
Miss Mary for the loss of the inheritance, had 
dropped from you in her presence. Only imagine, 
my dear Louise, what a painful blow it would prove 
for a heart so delicate and refined as hers must 
be!” 

“ It would have been detestable on my part.” 

“ Yes, for Miss Mary should then find herself in 
this alternative, either to bear everything, to suffer 
everything in silence, or, to give up a situation that 
keeps her family alive. ’ ’ 

“Poor girl I she is certainly much to be pitied.” 

“To me, you say, when regretting your hasty 
thought of a moment ago ; ^what a strange thing is 
the human heart ! ’ and I understand you because I 
have known you for twenty years, and can appreci- 
ate you. But, frankly, my dear Louise, do you 


108 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


think you could console Miss Mary, do you think 
you could heal a cruel wound merely by saying : 
what a strange thing is the human heart ? ’ ^ 

‘‘No, not all, she should be most painfully hurt 
and have good reason to be so. Ah ! mon ami, 
what a misfortune that the letter to your brother 
was sent too late ! 

“ No, Louise ; on the contrary, we must accept 
this apparent mischance as a blessing, thanks to 
which Alphonsine’s education shall now be as 
highly perfected as it should otherwise have been 
left incomplete. I had yielded a little in spite of 
myself to your desire of having no governess in 
future, but I have confidence enough in your mater- 
nal love to be assured that you shall feel every day 
only more and more thankful for the timely arrival 
of Miss O’Connor.** 

Mon ami, I fully acknowledge the truth of your 
observations. Besides, in justice to your brother, to 
my daughter, to myself, and, above all, to the 
young lady herself who is worthy of the deepest 
interest and esteem, it is only my duty to render her 
position as agreeable as possible. Only,** added 
Madame De Morville, smiling, “I am quite decided 
on retaining one of my conquests 

“ Which one? ** 

“Since the departure of Mademoiselle Lagrange, 
Alphonsine sleeps in a room near ours, instead of 
having a room in the third story near that of her 
governess. I am determined on keeping her there. 
I shall thus have her all to myself for a good hour 
both morning and evening. Incorrigible and insa- 
tiable mother that I am 1 ’ * 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


109 


'‘Just right! my dear Louise, and nothing more 
natural. Miss Mary, finding the custom already 
established, will not find it strange that Alphonsine 
does not sleep in a room near her governess’s.’’ 

" But, now I think of it ; it is near dinner hour, 
and I don’t know if Madame Pivolet has yet com- 
menced to get Miss Mary’s room ready.” 

"I’ll ring for Madame Pivolet,” said M. De 
Morville, pulling the cord, " and I shall caution her 
once more to restrain her language and fancy with 
regard to Miss O’Connor. For, if she were allowed 
to explain as she pleased some of the unjust recrimi- 
nations uttered by my uncle against Miss Mary, that 
insupportable Pivolet would soon manufacture 
stories quite as disagreeable as absurd.” 

" Fortunately, mon ami, such stories, so absurd, 
and particularly springing from a source so low, 
could never reach Miss O’Connor’s ears. But you 
are perfectly right in speaking plainly to Madame 
Pivolet.” 

The housekeeper now entered the room with a 
lugubrious air ; she set her wits to work to give her- 
self the gloomy look of a prisoner just delivered 
from the dungeons of the Bastille, 

" Madame Pivolet,” asked her mistress, "have you 
thought of getting ready the bed chamber and the 
little parlor for Mademoiselle O’Connor?” 

"For Mademoiselle O’Connor!” asked the 
housekeeper, like one just fallen from the clouds ; 
"what, Madame? The bed chamber for Mademoi- 
selle O’Connor ? ” 

"Yes, for my daughter’s governess,” said Madame 


110 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


De Morville with impatience. ‘‘You look as though 
you came from the other world.** 

“ Madame, without coming from the other world, 
which I was very near going to a short time ago, 
exhausted as I was by starvation,** said Madame 
Pivolet with an injured air, and throwing a glance 
of horror on the scene of her incarceratio7i, “ I may be 
well excused for not knowing that Mademoiselle has 
got a new governess, named Mademoiselle O’Con- 
nor. Sir and Madame, you both know very well 
that it is not my way to ask questions about what is 
not my own business.** 

“I request you, then, to persist in that reserve 
and discretion,** said M. De Morville, in a severe 
tone, “ for, mind, I repeat it, if you take the notion 
of making Mademoiselle O’Connor the text of any 
of your ridiculous stories (and I warn you that I 
shall be on the look out), you shall not remain 
twenty-four hours here. It is very painful to me to 
return to this subject, for I know your attachment 
to us and your Scrupulous honesty; accordingly I 
hope you shall not put me under the hard necessity 
of acting with rigor. * * 

“Monsieur can be assured that I shall strictly 
conform to his orders,** replied the housekeeper, in 
a tone of deep compunction. “I confess my faults, 
and only ask from Monsieur and Madame the time 
and the opportunity to repair them.** 

“That*s right, Madame Pivolet,** said Madame 
De Morville; “you will then inform Juliette that 
she is to attend on Miss Mary. * * 

“Yes, Madame.** 

“Go now, and get Mademoiselle O’Connor’s 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. m 

room ready. See that a good fire is lit there, for it 
has been vacant for some time, and this evening the 
air is damp and very chilly.*^ 

Madame* s orders shall be executed. Of course. 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine’s bed is to be made in 
the second room, as in Mademoiselle Lagrange’s 
time ? ” 

No. My daughter shall remain as she is.” 

‘‘All right, Madame.” 

“Don’t forget, either, to leave in Miss Mary’s 
room a teapot and a tea caddy. She is English, 
and of course she is in the habit of often taking 
tea.” 

“Monsieur and Madame can rest assured that all 
their orders shall be executed, ” replied Madame 
Pivolet, with the sweetest air imaginable; and she 
went out, leaving her master and mistress com- 
pletely convinced of her repentance, and of her 
kind intentions towards Miss Mary. 

But she was all the time only contriving in her 
fertile imagination the cunningest kind of a plot 
against the Belle Anglalse, as she called her. She 
first went to the laundry, opened the presses, selected 
a pair of fine sheets, then another pair, the coarsest 
and roughest she could find in the servant’s drawer, 
took the bundle under her arm, and proceeded to- 
wards the new governess’s room, saying to herself : 

“ These sheets are only too good for 'you, my Belle 
Anglalse ! If you complain (but that you won’t do, 
you look a little too proud for it). I’ll just say that 
Juliette made a mistake about the sheets. That ugly 
whiner, Lagrange, often had no better. Ah ! my 
fair ladies, you come here to have the first place in 


U2 the chAteav MORVILLE: 

the house after the owners, and to shove me down to 
the second. Ah ! you eat in the dining-room, while 
I, the housekeeper for fifteen years, and as good as 
any of you, have to eat in the servant’s hall. Ah ! 
you come to monopolize my Alphonsine that I have 
nourished at my breast, and you think that old Pivo- 
let, who is no fool, will quietly endure it ? Not at 
all 1 It shall go very hard with me indeed, if, after 
having packed off by my little attentions our first 
governess — though, to do her justice, I had little 
fault to find with her, she was too ugly to be jealous 
of — I don’t succeed in ridding the house of the 
second, the adventuress^ according to the expression 
of honest M. De Botardiere, who can’t bear her, and 
has already quarrelled with master and missis on her 
account. Didn’t he go off furious ! ‘ Baptiste,’ says 

he, ^ I’ll never set foot again in this house.’ And 
he jumped into the gig and gave Ronceval such a 
cut that the old beast started off as fast as his legs 
could carry him. Now, if M. De Botardiere never 
sets foot here again, of course he will disinherit mas- 
ter and missis, and consequently my little Alphon- 
sine — merciful goodness! and Belle Anglais e^ do 
you think that shall be the end of it ? Not while I 
am around I To work then ! and to begin this very 
evening 1 ’ ’ 

So saying, the housekeeper proceeded to the room 
that had been formerly occupied by her young mis- 
tress, and which was near the governess’s. These 
two apartments, separated by a neat little parlor, 
were comfortably furnished, but not having been in- 
habited for a long time, and the month having been 
cold and wet, they were now extremely chilly and 


OR, LIFE IN rOURAINE. 


113 


damp. To increase this inconvenience as much as 
possible, Madame Pivolet opened the two windows 
of Alphonsine’s old room and gave free admission to 
the cold mist of the rainy evening. Then she made 
the bed with the coarse sheets, lit no fire in the grate, 
took care not to put on the table the teapot and the 
tea caddy that she had brought, but she made sure 
that the candlesticks had candles. Then comtem- 
plating with grim satisfaction this cold, cheerless 
chamber, which the melancholy autumn wind was 
blowing through, she said to herself : 

‘‘ Nothing venture nothing win ! If I can succeed 
in making my Belle Anglatse take this room for her 
own, she shall have good reason not to forget her 
first night at the Chateau Morville in a hurry. But 
I must not get myself into danger. Madame or 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine will be sure to come and 
see if I have executed their orders. ’ * 

Then Madame Pivolet, with a cunning quite dia- 
bolical, going to the chamber really intended for the 
governess, put fine sheets on the bed, made a good 
fire in the grate, carefully closed the windows and 
drew the curtains, set the teapot and the tea caddy 
where they could easily be seen, and, in short, 
strictly executed In this room all the orders she had 
received. 

Madame De Morville soon came in to make sure 
by her own eyes that Miss Mary should find her room 
nice and comfortable when retiring. 

I have preferred to take charge of this myself, 
Madame,** said the housekeeper to her mistress, ^^so 
as to be certain that nothing was forgotten.** 

‘‘ That’s a service, hladame Pivolet, for which I 
6 * 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


114 

am very thankful to you/* said Madame De Morville, 
quitting the room. 

Madame Pivolet waited a moment, then, locking 
the door and putting the key in her pocket, she 
crossed the little parlor which separated the two 
bedrooms, and led out into a long corridor lit 
on one side by several windows on hinges. Two of 
these she opened and left swinging, rightly calculat- 
ing that the wind would soon break some panes of 
glass. — These dark preparations being completed, she 
went to dinner, and waited with much anxiety for 
the moment when Mademoiselle O’Connor would 
go to her room. When it was tea time, knowing 
that her master and mistress would retire soon, the 
housekeeper took a lighted candle and placed 
herself in the billiard room through which Miss 
Mary was to paiss on the way to her chamber. She 
indulged half a hope that the governess would be 
alone, a thing however very unlikely, for Madame 
De Morville, or at least her daughter, would be 
likely, the first night particularly, to accompany 
Miss Mary to her room, as much out of considera- 
tion for her as to show her the way. 

In some perplexity then, but with unflinching 
courage, the wicked old Pivolet stood waiting in the 
room, a large cloak provided against accidents in 
one hand and the lighted candle in the other. The 
door of the drawing-room soon opened, and she 
heard her mistress addressing Miss Mary : 

‘‘ Since you absolutely refuse my company as far 
as your room. Mademoiselle Alphonsine will take my 
place.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


115 


As the young girl came out with her governess, 
the latter said : 

Do not give yourself this trouble, Mademoiselle, 

I beg of you/’ 

‘‘ Excuse me. Mademoiselle, but I must in the 
first place show you where your room is, and then I 
want to see that everything there is all right, though 
Mamma has been there this evening. ’ ’ 

^^But you see it is useless to disturb yourself, since 
your mother has been so kind as to see to it 
already.” 

‘‘ But, Miss Mary, you have been several hours in 
my room and I have not seen yours yet.” 

‘^Mademoiselle,” said Madame Pi volet to Al- 
phonsine, “you’d better put on this cloak.” 

“ What ! a cloak to go up there ? What do you 
mean ? ’ ’ 

“Mademoiselle, I don’t know who has left two 
windows of the corridor open, but the storm has 
broken all the glass, and the wind and rain are 
beating into the passage. You might catch a bad 
cold.” 

“Decidedly, Mademoiselle Alphonsine, ” said 
Miss Mary, smiling, “ I must act my part of school- 
mistress at once and forbid your coming any 
farther. ’ ’ 

“ Oh ! Miss Mary, if you only knew how much 
nurse exaggerates in everything she says ! ’ ’ 

“I assure you. Mademoiselle, that I don’t exag- 
gerate now,” said the housekeeper, seized with a fit 
of shivering. “ I have just come from the corridor 
and I’m frozen. Think how it would be with you 
and your delicate chest.” 


m 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


My delicate chest ! Why, Pivolet, you are 
dreaming ! ’ ’ 

Mademoiselle,’' said the housekeeper, addressing 
herself respectfully to Miss Mary, ‘‘you will have 
the kindness to forbid Mademoiselle Alphonsine to 
accompany you to your chamber. It is very warm 
in the drawing-room, and the cold current of air in 
the passage might give her a severe chill.” 

‘^My dear Alphonsine,” said Miss Mary with a 
voice really irresistible, no longer order, I beg 
it of you as a favor, not to insist further on accom- 
panying me.” 

Alphonsine, fearing to be considered troublesome, 
yielded, though with regret, to Miss Mary’s desire, 
and said : — 

‘^Well, then. Mademoiselle, at least take this 
cloak, since, according to nurse, the corridor is such 
a terrible place.” 

will take it then,” said Miss Mary, smiling, 
and while the housekeeper busied herself putting it 
on her shoulders, she took Alphonsine’ s hand affec- 
tionately, saying : Good night, till to-morrow ! ” 

‘^Oh! till to-morrow very early!” replied Al- 
phonsine. ‘^You shall see. Mademoiselle, that I 
am no sluggard. ’ ’ 

Then she added with a sigh : 

Miss Mary, I’m not a going to close an eye all 
night.” 

‘‘Why not?” 

“ Oh ! I shall be thinking on the severe examina- 
tion I have to undergo to-morrow.” 

“ I don’t think you have much to fear on that 
head.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


111 


^^Oh! don’t think that it is about myself I’m 
uneasy. Gracious ! no, for it does not seem to me 
that it is I that am to stand the test to-morrow. ’ ’ 
Who then ? ” 

'‘Won’t it be, to a certain point, my poor old 
governess. Mademoiselle Lagrange, who has taught 
me all I know and whom I loved so dearly. There ! 
I’ve said it. Miss Mary, So to-morrow when I shall 
do my best to pass off well, I shall think on her 
all the time, and it is for her sake that I shall take 
pleasure in your praise if I deserve it. ’ ’ 

Miss O’Connor was almost moved to tears at the 
delicacy of this sentiment so artlessly expressed, and 
said to the young girl : 

"I can assure you beforehand that I shall be as 
much pleased with you as with Mademoiselle La- 
grange. Good night once more. ’ ’ 

"Let me go with you as far as the lobby, Miss 
Mary. ’ ’ 

"Yes, but no farther.’* 

" Won’t you allow me to send you one of Mamma’s 
chamber maids ? ” 

" No ; many thanks. I am accustomed to wait on 
myself. ’ ’ 

" In all cases, please tell Madame Pivolet, if you 
want anything.” 

"Certainly, Mademoiselle,” said Miss Mary. 

Thus speaking, the two young girls, preceded by 
the housekeeper, who bore the light, passed through 
several rooms, and arrived at last at the lobby, 
where the temperature was quite cold. 

"Quick, quick, go back,” said Miss O’Connor 


I J 8 the CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

to Alphonsine, preventing her from passing the door- 
way. 

‘^Good night, then, Miss Mary,’’ said Alphonsine, 
departing, ‘‘ a very good night ! To-morrow, early, 
I shall be waiting for you in the study-room.” 

‘‘Till to-morrow. Mademoiselle Alphonsine,” 
said Miss Mary, “I shall join you at an early 
hour. ’ ’ 

Then, following the housekeeper, she ascended a 
long and wide staircase and came to the corridor, 
where, true enough, the rain was coming in through 
the broken windows. 

The housekeeper then, entering the little parlor 
that separated the two bed-ro'oms, and giving the 
light to Miss Mary, pointed to the door of one of 
them, saying : — 

“ There’s your room. Mademoiselle ; ” then, 
pointing to the other, “and there is the room 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine occupied when Made- 
moiselle Lagrange, her other governess, was here; 
but it seems that Madame is not willing that her 
daughter should sleep there now . — Madame prefers 
to keep her daughter near herself.” And again 
strangely emphasizing the word, which she repeated 
a second time — Madame must, of course, 
have her reasons for it. I have the honor of wishing 
Mademoiselle a very good night,” added the house- 
keeper, with a deep curtsey ; and then she departed, 
saying to herself: — 

“If she complains of her room to-morrow, I will 
say that she made a mistake, and took one room for 
the other. But, no matter, the longest day of her 
life she shall remember her first night at Chateau 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, XJQ 

Morville, my Belle Anglalse that got me flung into 
the dungeon/* 

As she went off, she shut, as if by chance, the 
door of the little parlor. Miss Mary, candlestick in 
hand, went to the door designated by the house- 
keeper, opened it, and entered the room ; but the 
windows having been left open by the cunning 
Pivolet, a sudden gust of wind blew out the light, 
and Miss Mary suddenly found herself in pitchy 
darkness, with the rain, driven by the wind, beating 
on her face. 


m 


THE CHA TEA U MOR VILLE ; 


CHAPTER VIII. 

FIRST EXPERIENCES AND FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

The chamber in which Miss Mary found herself 
was, as we have said, dark as pitch ; the open win- 
dows gave admission at rare intervals to uncertain 
glimmerings breaking out here and there through 
the heavy rain-clouds that moved along the autumn 
sky. 

The first idea of the young governess was to turn 
back and reach the door of the corridor through 
which she had come ; but, as before mentioned, the 
cunning housekeeper, with wicked foresight, had 
shut this door which had a spring catch, and when 
Miss Mary had at last succeeded in opening it, the 
housekeeper was gone and she could not follow her 
as she did not know the way. 

She dared not call : the court-yard on which her 
windows opened was deserted : so she had no 
resource left but to make the best of her disagreeable 
position. She groped about until she could recog- 
nize the principal articles of furniture in her strange 
room, closed the windows, and then throwing her- 
self on her knees she prayed Tong and fervently, 
earnestly inploring heaven to assist her in accom- 
plishing the long task of self-denial and exile that 
had just begun so doubtfully. Then sending in 
thought a last good night to those she loved, she 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


121 


sought what rest she could obtain in the coarse, wiry 
sheets with which Madame Pivolet had provided her 
bed. 

Five o’clock had just sounded from the chateau 
turret, and the day commenced to break. Mary 
arose and found her trunk in the little parlor : then 
taking out her little writing desk, and wrapping her- 
self up as well as she could in her cloak, she com- 
menced to write, shivering with cold, and having no 
more light than that afforded by the gray dawn of a 
gloomy morning. 

It was not to Dublin that her first letter dated 
from the Chateau Morville was directed. It has 
been already mentioned that, after finishing the 
greater part of her journey, she had written an 
account of it to her mother.. The following letter 
was the fulfilment of a promise she had made to 
Captain O’Reilly who was then quartered in Cabool, 
fighting the Afghans. 

‘^My Dear Henry, — 

write to you from France, — from the Chateau 
Morville — where I shall probably pass several years 
of my life. When I wrote to you last, announcing 
the ruin of my family and the destruction of our 
hopes, I told you that as soon as my lot was decided 
I would write again. I do so with pleasure now, 
because I think that by letting yotf know all the 
truth I can inspire you with more courage. Yes, 
my dear Henry, when I tell you that I am not so 
unhappy as you may have dreaded, I give you the 
opportunity of telling me in return about your 
prospects, for, in short, though we can never more 


122 CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

expect to enjoy happiness in each other’s society, 
surely, with Heaven’s blessing, we may well promise 
ourselves many a consolation. 

I am governess in the family of M. De Morville, 
residing ten or twelve leagues from Tours. M. De 
Morville is the brother of the French Consul at 
Dublin, and I have come provided with every neces- 
sary information and instruction, all of which I owe 
to the Consul’s friendship for my father. My pupil, 
Alphonsine, is a charming young creature; if I’m 
not greatly mistaken, I shall have very little trouble 
in making something out of her fine natural endow- 
ments. — Her uncle in Dublin understands her well ; 
still, I do not accept all that he told me one day 
with a pleasant laugh : ^ Of all my brother’s house- 
hold,’ he repeated, ‘your pupil, Alphonsine, is, 
perhaps, the very one that stands least in need of an 
instructor.’ In this criticism there must have been 
more wit than justice. 

“ M. De Morville is a man remarkable, first of all, 
for a charming politeness and the best manners ; but, 
though still young — that is, not quite forty-five — his 
features are not without a slight trace of suffering. 
Very often, as the Consul, who loves him most ten- 
derly, told me, he is subject to the keenest and most 
agonizing attacks of pain from old wounds that he 
received in the Spanish wars, and in several duels — 
in which, however, he had been obliged to take part 
against his own better judgment. The bad state of 
his health often compels him to keep to his room 
where, being somewhat devoted to scientific pur- 
suits, he tries to amuse himself with his books. At 
such times, his only trouble, his only fear, is that of 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 

dispiriting the other members of his family and thus 
preventing them from participating in the few amuse- 
ments that now and then cheer up the dulness of 
provincial life. It is impossible, you will confess, 
to have a more amiable fault. Still his brother 
almost blames him for this extreme self-denial. In 
consequence of thus forcing, as it were, his wife to 
go without him into the world in search of its rather 
frivolous distractions, the Consul fears that his bro- 
ther must often lead an isolated, sad, and gloomy life. 

^‘Madame De Morville is no more than thirty- 
nine. It is only from her children you can tell her 
age, for her lively, buxom face, and the freshness of 
her complexion arising from a slight stoutness, give 
her a charm of second youth that renders her still 
very agreeable to look upon. Besides, her disposi- 
tion is frank, her spirits are good, and she knows 
how to make the most of her education, the imper- 
fection of which, her knowledge of the world and her 
charming manners almost succeed in concealing. 
Perhaps, dear Henry, you might consider that she 
wants a little of that gravity which is so becoming in 
a matron ; you were always such a critic, you know ; 
as for me, I can pardon her anything. 

‘‘The last member of the family is a son, M. 
Gerard, at present off at school, and to be so for 
another year. His uncle, the Consul, loves and es- 
teems him almost as much as his charming niece. 

“You see, dear Henry, how likely I am, in the 
midst of such worthy persons, to pass a quiet, peace- 
able existence, and to enjoy without any trouble the 
invaluable blessing of being able to afford some re- 
lief to my dear family. 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


I give you all these details, because I am con- 
vinced they shall contribute to lighten the gloom 
caused by the tidings conveyed in my last letter; 
however I wished to announce to you myself the 
breaking off of our engagement, because nobody else 
could have done it in a less painful manner. But I 
dread your reply ; I am afraid of your sorrow. So, 
before receiving it, I hasten to send you news at 
least a little more encouraging than the last. When 
reading your answer, I can say to myself: ‘ He is 
not quite so miserable just now as he was when writ- 
ing these lines.* 

^‘The daily routine of my duties, the thought that 
I shall send to Dublin every month, to the humble 
dwelling where my father, mother, and four sisters 
are living together, a letter that shall be read in 
common, and which will always contain a little 
remittance to help father’s modest salary, all this, 
dear Henry, shall soften for me, and I trust also for 
you, all grief for disappointed hopes. Thanks be to 
God, the past is completely ours ; in recalling it we 
recall nothing but pure, unalloyed pleasure. I re- 
member, and a misty happiness overshadows me at 
the thought, how kind and good you were always to 
me, and how even when a child I loved you with an 
affection mingled with respect and confidence. 
Don’t you remember how you used to make me for- 
get the mischief I had done, by congratulating me 
on whatever little good I had succeeded in accom- 
plishing ? 

If I can to-day without too many scruples, take 
upon myself the responsibility of educating a human 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 

being, it is to you that I owe it. Whatever progress 
I may have made either in self-knowledge or in 
sciences, arts, or accomplishments, I owe it all to my 
desire of pleasing When you took my hand and 
said, with your deep, grave voice, ‘ Mary, I am satis- 
fied,’ I thought I was sufficiently rewarded for all my 
trouble, and yet you were all the time only preparing 
for me a reward still more delightful — that of being 
able to return to my dear, dear parents a small part 
of what they have done for me. Thank you from 
my heart, dear Henry. Excuse me for thinking 
of this now for the first time — it only makes me 
think of yourself still more tenderly and respectfully. 
You see how unreservedly I reveal the state of my 
heart ! 

Though projects formed so many years ago are 
now become impossible, still I cannot say to you, 

‘ Forget me, let us love no more ! ’ What has been 
for me an enchanting dream, what has been — why 
hesitate to say it? — a deep and tender love which 
the duties of wife were to render only more 
chastened and holy, now becomes by the decrees 
of Heaven nothing more than a lively and sincere 
sisterly affection. Why then forget each other? 
Shall I cease to have pleasure in hearing of your 
successes, your advancement,^ of everything which 
may render you more happy and me more proud ? 
Encourage me then, dear friend, in the new path 
into which Providence has conducted me, and some 
day perhaps, if ever we meet again, you shall, as of 
old, once more take my hand and say, ‘ Mary, I am 
satisfied.* 


2^e ^ MOR VILLE s 

Good-bye, dear Henry. I am, and shall ever 
remain, your sincere and aifectionate.friend, 

‘‘Mary O’Connor.*' 

While writing this letter she had become almost 
frozen. She had often interrupted her task involun- 
tarily, and, throwing her eyes around the bleak and 
dreary room, shuddered at the contrast, as she vividly 
recalled in her mind’s eye 

The sad, strange days, the days that are no more I '* 

Oftener still she had dropped her pen to dry her 
tears, at such times ceasing to write altogether, and 
trying to summon up courage, in order that her 
letter should reveal none of her sorrow to Henry. 
Eight o’clock struck. She kissed the letter and 
commenced to fold it. 

She looked at the paper awhile and thought how 
it was soon to be opened by a hand she could never 
clasp again. A tear fell on it, and she tried to 
efface the mark, dreading lest this mute witness 
might reveal the grief she had endeavored to con- 
ceal. She was disturbed in her bitter reflections by 
a sudden noise. The door on the corridor opened, 
then a light step was heard in the little parlor, but 
proceeding in a direction different from that leading 
to the room which she occupied. She heard a door 
open, then an exclamation of astonishment. — Very 
much surprised, she rose to open the door, and per- 
ceived Alphonsine standing in the door-way of the 
room where had been made all the preparations 
ordered by Madame De Morville. 

“But, Miss Mary,” exclaimed Alphonsine, “where 
have you passed the night ? ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


1S7 

'^Here/* said the governess, turning and pointing 
to her room. 

‘‘Oh! my heaven, is it possible? Have I the 
sight of my eyes ? ’ ’ exclaimed a third voice, that of 
Madame Pivolet, who had unlocked the room two 
or three hours before and now, eager to enjoy the 
sight of her handiwork, appeared at the passage 
door. “ I am confounded, overwhelmed ! Made- 
moiselle in that chamber I — There must be magic 
in it. It must be a trick of the old serpent ! Such 
things occur.’* 

“I don’t know what you mean by such lan- 
guage,” said Alphonsine impatiently, “but it is 
inconceivable, it is shocking to think that Miss 
Mary passed the night in a room where no prepara- 
tion had been made for her reception. ’*’ 

“I mean. Mademoiselle Alphonsine, that I don’t 
know whether it is asleep or awake I am this 
moment,” said the housekeeper. “I must pinch 
myself to know if I’m awake. Oh I I must be 
dreaming. Perhaps I’m a somnambulist ! ” 

“ Pivolet, you are intolerable I ” 

“What, Mademoiselle, you won’t permit me to 
express my astonishment at finding this poor dear 
young lady in a room that is not hers ! Only think, 
there was nothing, absolutely nothing in it, no 
candles, no fire, and I even remember the windows 
were wide open in the terrible rain and wind. Ah 1 
the poor dear young lady 1 She must have been 
awfully cold. I don’t know if she even had sheets 
for the bed. Oh, yes, I recollect, a few days ago 
they put sheets on it, but they were new and coarse. 


12S the CHA tea U MOR VILLE I 

yes, as coarse as a rasp ! Ah ! the poor dear young 
lady ! what a terrible night indeed she must have 
had of it.’* 

‘‘I did not sleep much, that’s true,” said the 
governess, smiling. 

Oh ! Miss Mary, will you ever, can you ever 
excuse me ? ” said Alphonsine in a touching voice, 
taking her governess’s hands. ‘‘ What must you 
have thought of mother and me ! — But I implore 
you, don’t imagine that we could possibly have been 
regardless of your comfort to such a degree as that. 
But,” she added, turning to the housekeeper, now 
I recollect, it is you that undertook to conduct Miss 
Mary to her room. How does it happen ? ” 

‘‘Hah! Mademoiselle,” interrupted the house- 
keeper so suddenly that she startled the two young 
girls, “I have it 1 Yes — it is all clear! It flashes 
through me like lightning ! It is as plain as the 
noon-day sun ! ’ ’ 

“My gracious! Pivolet, how detestable you are 
with your cries and your frantic exaggerations ! ’ ’ 
said Alphonsine. “ But explain yourself simply 
and sincerely, I warn you. My mother shall be 
very deeply irritated if she learns that it was 
tlirough your negligence Miss Mary has passed 
such a miserable night.” 

“ Oh ! let us speak no more of it, my dear 
Alphonsine,” said the governess. “There has 
been some misunderstanding about the room I was 
to occupy, that’s all. Not one word about this 
little mishap of mine to Madame Dp Morville. I 
should regret very much to be the cause of bringing 
the least reproach on your excellent nurse.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 129 

‘‘And as for me, Mademoiselle,^* cried the house- 
keeper, “ I can wash my hands of the matter; I am 
as innocent as the child unborn ; I am as white as a 
swan in the affair. I don’t want to labor under any 
imputation. I won’t have any slur cast on my way 
of doing my duty. I would prefer death; yes, I 
would wade through human gore sooner.” 

“Pivolet, it is before mother that you have to 
clear yourself. ’ ’ 

“And I shall reply like Bayard : without fear and 
without reproach. Mademoiselle. Listen, here’s 
what happened. Now mind. I entered the room 
with Mademoiselle. I had the light in my hand, 
and, of course, 1 stood right facing her. Then says 
I, ‘There is your room. Mademoiselle, on the left.’ 
Mademoiselle thought I was speaking of her left, 
while I was speaking of my left. That it’s quite 
clear, ain’t it? A baby can understand that. So 
Mademoiselle instead of going to the door on my 
left — that is on her left — no, on her right — that is, 
yes, on her left — no, rather on my right, naturally 
enough went into the wrong room, Voila I ’ ’ 

“It is explained very clearly,” said the governess, 
smiling. “I just took one door for another. So, I 
repeat, my dear Alphonsine, I would be very sorry 
if any dulness of mine should cause the least trouble 
to Madame Pivolet. Let us not say one word to 
Madame De Morville about this terrible night. Let 
us go down to the study room and get through your 
examination. I promise I can listen as attentively 
and discover your mistakes as mercilessly as if I had 
had the best sleep imaginable.” 

Thus saying, she gently led off her pupil through 

7 


ISO THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE. 

the long corridor. The housekeeper, seeing her 
depart, muttered between her teeth : 

‘‘Ah! you don’t complain, ma Belle Anglais e I 
You’re a proud one, eh 1 You have patience, have 
you 1 Very good 1 But you’re not at the end of your 
string yet 1 ” 


END OF PART FIRST. 


PART II 


LIFE AT THE ChAtEAU. 





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CHAPTER !• 


SORCERY.— CORRESPONDENCE. 

It is now more than six months since Miss 
O’Connor’s arrival at the Chateau Morville. 

Alphonsine’s father is seated, with a thoughtful 
air, in a little sitting room, waiting for the breakfast 
hour. The suffering expression so habitual to his 
countenance, otherwise so frank, has become com- 
plicated by a kind of constraint whenever he is in 
the presence of his family. Just now alone, and not 
undergoing this constraint (it is in one of those rare 
moments that we present him to the reader), M. De 
Morville seems profoundly melancholy. He turns 
over the leaves of an album mechanically, murmur- 
ing broken expressions in a tone of intense bitter- 
ness : 

‘‘Is it possible? At forty-five ! me, the father of 
a family ! me, still, in spite of everything, a man of 
feeling and of honor — certainly, and, please Heaven, 
I shall always continue so — yes, that’s it, honor — for- 
tunately, I can answer for myself there — that’s my 
strong point.” 

Then shrugging his shoulders impatiently, he went 
on: “ Answer for myself ! What ridiculous preten- 
sion ! Three months ago, could I restrain my 
indignation, or rather my ridicule, if any one had 
said that to-day, at my age — ^Ah ! I’m either very 

(133) 


the CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

guilty or very foolish; yes, foolish probably, but 
how guilty ? Shall not my secret remain buried for- 
ever in the darkest depths of my heart ? Ah ! I 
would die of shame if my wife or daughter, or, 
worst of all. Miss Mary, should ever discover it. 
No, no. Oh ! that would be the most terrible 
punishment Heaven could inflict on me. Punish- 
ment ! But, Great Providence ! what have I done ? 
What is my crime ? Is it my fault if I see, hear, 
admire, and am grateful ? Is it my fault if a terrible 
fatality exposes me every moment to this dangerous 
intimacy ? Is it my fault if I notice the wonderful 
progress of my daughter, my adored daughter, in 
talents and in knowledge ? If I see her disposition 
and her intelligence gain every day in grace, in ele- 
vation, in delicacy? Is it my fault if I see with 
wonder and delight my child’s admirable qualities 
more and more developing themselves under an in- 
fluence as enlightened and firm as it is mild and 
charming? And can I prevent myself from cherish- 
ing a lively and tender gratitude towards her who 
renders my paternal heart so proud and happy ? 
Not at all, for the contrary would be odious ingrati- 
tude. Then I am neither guilty nor foolish. I am 
just. I need not then blush for my sentiments. I 
deceive myself, I exaggerate their tendency, that’s 
all. Yes, thank God, it is only a father’s heart that 
beats in my breast.” 

At this thought, the cloud that had darkened his 
features cleared away a little ; but, soon relapsing 
into his despondency, he resumed with redoubled 
bitterness : 

‘‘But if my gratitude is paternal and sacred, how 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


155 


is it that it weighs on me like remorse ? Why this 
confusion, this reserve, this restraint in presence of 
my wife and daughter ? Why these reveries, these 
involuntary distractions, which fortunately I can 
easily account for by the poor state of my health, 
the real weakness of' which, however, my wife and 
daughter have never suspected, thanks to my precau- 
tions and my self-command ? Why this increasing 
love of solitude ? Gloomy solitude, which I seek 
that I may suffer unnoticed ! And still I feel myself 
as loving, as devoted towards my wife as ever. Ah ! 
what an abyss, a dark abyss is my heart ! ’ ^ 

He was indulging in this melancholy strain of 
strange reflections, when, hearing his wife’s voice as 
she entered the room, he started, arose, and endea- 
vored to assume his usual air. • 

‘‘I repeat, Madame Pivolet,” said Madame De 
Morville to her housekeeper, who followed her, I 
repeat that you have not common sense, and that 
such absurdities may lead to terrible results. I make 
M. De Morville judge.” 

Oh, Madame, it is useless to tell M. De Morville 
such a — ” • 

On the contrary, it is useful. He will give you 
a good scolding for this new folly — one of the most 
absurd of them all ! ” 

‘‘ What is the matter, my dear Louise?” asked M. 
De Morville. 

Mon ami^ I was just now crossing the farm-yard, 
when all at once I saw Madame Pivolet engaged in 
a very animated debate with old Chenot.” 

The old shepherd ? ” 

‘^Yes. I heard him say to Madame Pivolet, 


m 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


regarding her with respect and astonishment : ^ so 
by this means the witchcraft that is on my poor old 
wife shall be broken?* ‘Yes/ says Pivolet, ‘and 
I’ll answer for it with my head.’ ” 

“Madame, I can explain ” 

“ Do me the favor to allow me to speak, Madame 
Pivolet ; I want to inform M. De Morville of this 
new and dangerous folly of yours.” 

“ Madame — excuse me — I heard my grandmother 


“Hold your tongue,” said De Morville sternly. 

“‘What is it all about, Ch^not?’ said I to the 
old shepherd,” resumed Madame De Morville. 
‘Oh! Madame,’ he replied, ‘only think, my poor 
old woman, has been bedridden for nearly a year ; 
she can’t stir a peg; \i she was tied down with 
cords, she could not be less capable of moving. I 
gave her the herbs which I give to my sick sheep, but 
they didn’t seem to do her any good. Madame 
Pivolet has been just now asking me about her, and 
I told her that she had a sickness that nobody could 
understand, and that I could make nothing of it 
myself.’” 

“Then says I to Daddy Chenot,” interrupted 
Madame Pivolet, “ yes, and I don’t deny it, no, I 
don’t, I declare it openly, I have the courage of a 
martyr, and would undergo a ” 

“ Stop this confounded nonsense ! ” exclaimed M. 
De Morville. “ Either keep silent, or tell the story 
simply.” 

“ Well, sir, here is all I said to the old shepherd 
— ‘Since old Mammy Chenot is sick of a disease 
that nobody understands, it is very likely somebody 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 1S7 

has thrown a spell over her. There are malignant 
persons, who never appear in the affair, who don’t 
even know you, and still who have the power of 
throwing a spell over you. These malignant persons 
are generally called witches.’ ” 

^^What!” cried M. De Morville, you have 
been so foolish, or rather so wicked, as to put such 
ideas into the poor man’s head.” 

Wait, mon ami,'' said Madame De Morville, 
‘^wait till the end. Then you shall see to what 
bad results this new extravagance may lead.” 

Truth, Madame,” said the housekeeper, ‘^ex- 
cuse me for saying it, can never lead to bad results. 
I heard my old grandmother say that her mother 
had once seen a witch as wicked as she was 
beautiful, burnt at the stake. She used to go 
to meeting every Friday night, astride on a broom- 
stick, so as to have the power of flinging terrible 
spells on the cattle and the poor country folks, in 
gratitude for which they roasted the hag at last, 
and, faith, they did well ! In short, sir, even in 
the very country we’re in, and you know it as 
well as I, sir (and it was like a flash of light to 
poor Daddy Ch^not when he thought of it), there 
exists this very day, hard by the park, a sheet of 
water called the Pond of the Shrieking Woman, 
because they once dipped another witch there for 
her wicked doings, and they would not have let 
her off so easily but for her terrible screams and vio- 
lent resistance, which frightened them. That’s a his- 
torical fact, sir. So says I to Daddy Chgnot — 
^Somebody must have thrown a spell over your 
wife. You have but one thing then to do. Take 


158 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


a big toad during the full moon, tie its hind legs 
with seven sprigs of hemp, stick seven pins in its 
back in the form of a cross, put it on a red hot 
shovel and walk seven times around your cabin, 
each time crying out : — Barrabas / You may rely 
on it that this will break the charm, and that your 
old wife will be once more able to trot around like 
a rabbit. If it don^t, it is because a spell of double 
power has been flung on her, and in that case we may 
try to do something else.’ ” 

Really, this creature is doing all she can to ren- 
der herself more and more insupportable,” cried M. 
De Morville, looking at his wife. 

Then, turning to the housekeeper — 

Do you want to wear out my patience? — Do you 
absolutely require me to drive you from the house ? ’ ’ 
Drive me from the house, sir ! Good gracious, 
why so? Is it because I have the good nature to 
wish to cure Mammy Chenot ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Leave the room!” exclaimed M. De Morville. 
“You are a miserable lunatic 1 Go this moment and 
tell Joseph to ride to the village for the Doctor. I 
shall acquaint him with your new extravagance, so 
that when he cures this poor woman he may at the 
same time also cure her husband of whatever wild 
follies you may have put into his head.” 

“Cure her I all his Latin won’t do her a bit of 

good, whereas a good big toad ” 

M. De Morville cut her short by pointing to the 
door with so imperious a gesture that she vanished 
in a moment. 

“You are right,” he observed to his wife, “there 
is nothing more dangerous than to spread such ab- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 1S9 

surdities through ignorant and credulous minds. 
Blind and brutal excesses may very easily be their 
result.” 

Fortunately, you have taken an excellent means 
to put a stop to such extravagances. The Doctor 
will at once cure the poor woman and crush Pivo- 
let’s silly folly. But, come, mon ami, don’t let the 
crazy thing affect you so. You look a little out of 
sorts ! ” 

‘‘ Oh, it’s nothing. That creature is continually 
disturbing me, and I don’t know what prevents me 
from getting rid of her at once. ’ ’ 

‘‘With all her faults, she means well, and is very 
faithful. She adores Alphonsine, and our dear child 
would be very sorry if we sent her away. Let us 
trouble ourselves no longer about her, though for 
that matter,” added Madame De Morville, smiling, 
“I must acknowledge that I’m a little like her my- 
self. I too believe in witches ! ’ * 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Oh ! but in good witches ! or, if you like it bet- 
ter, I believe in good genii, in good angels in human 
shape. ’ ’ 

“ In good angels in human shape? ” 

“Yes, Miss Mary, for instance — ” 

“Explain yourself, Louise.” 

“ Well, isn’t she a good angel in human shape? a 
regular sorceress ? Hasn’t she thrown a spell on me? 
From the jealous mother I was, hasn’t she turned me 
into the most reasonable, the nicest little mother 
that you know ? It is true ; for ever since we have 
had the happiness of this sweet young girl’s com- 
pany, have you ever seen me, even once, show my- 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


140 

self jealous in the least degree of Alphonsine’s ever 
increasing affection for her ? or ever, even once, on 
Alphonsine’s account, jealous of Miss Mary’s daz- 
zling beauty ? In a word, except a little attack of 
bad humor on account of the way your spiteful 
tyrant of an uncle received poor Alphonsine when 
she went to visit him on his birth-day, I ask, — ex- 
cept on this solitary occasion, — have you ever heard 
me make the least allusion to the loss of the inherit- 
ance? — No trifling loss, after all, for our children. — 
No, not once. No wonder then that I say. Miss 
Mary has bewitched me. She is the good angel of 
the house. I hardly know myself any longer. Her 
remarkable talents, which I was afraid I should envy, 
I only admire; I even love them, for Alphonsine 
profits by them wonderfully. Has not her progress 
every way been most extraordinary ? ’ * 

Oh ! most extraordinary.” 

How coldly you say that ! ” 

Oh ! not at all.” 

Oh ! but you do though. And a propos^ man ami, 
I don’t think you are quite just towards Miss Mary.” 

<<I?” 

Yes, for some time past, you seem uneasy, even 
embarrassed, in her presence.” 

Not in the least.” 

‘‘Oh! I have good eyes. However charmingly 
she may draw, however enchantingly she may sing, 
it is only Alphonsine and myself that ever express 
our pleasure and offer our legitimate applause. You 
are away over in a corner, and when you have to say 
something you applaud as if you did not know what 
was going on.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


U1 

Because, my dear Louise, knowing Miss Mary’s 
extreme modesty, I don’t like to confuse her by my 
encomiums.” 

She must think Alphonsine and me then very ill 
bred,” replied Madame De Morville, laughing, ‘‘for 
we are never tired heaping on encomiums.” 

“You know, my dear, there is a certain difference 
between the praise given by a woman and that given 
by — a man.” 

“A man ! ” cried Madame De Morville, with a 
merry laugh. “ Why, you are no man to Miss 
Mary. Can the father of a family be a man ? ’ ’ 

M. De Morville reddened in spite of himself ; he 
was trying to make out some reply, when Alphonsine 
entered the room with letters in her hand. 

“The postman!” she cried merrily, as she dis- 
tributed the letters. “ One for you. Mamma. The 
postmark is Saint Cyr, probably from Madame De 
Noirfeuille. One for you. Papa, from Paris. An- 
other from Paris — but this one I keep myself; it is 
from my amiable brother Gerard. Another for you, 
Papa, from Chateau Botardiere, uncle of course ex- 
pressing his regret at not being at home when I went 
to congratulate him on his birth-day. Lastly, this 
English letter is for Miss Mary. I’ll run and take it 
to her. She is always so delighted at hearing from 
her family. Then I shall read my own letter. Dear, 
good Gerard, how I love him for having written to 
me! ” 

And Alphonsine ran off to complete her distribu- 
tion of the mail. 

M. De Morville opened the Botardiere letter, say- 
ing to hi^ wife ; 


1 THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

^‘Let US see how this uncle of mine explains and 
excuses his cruel treatment of Alphonsine, who only 
did her duty in paying him a visit on his birth-day, 
the 19th of March/’ 

He read as follows ; 

Nephew, — 

I give you this title only because it is your birth- 
right ; unfortunately I can’t help your being my sis- 
ter’s son. 

I do not go to your house because I should be 
there exposed to — 

ist. A Living insult — the adventuress, who with 
her lovers, during that cursed journey, turned my 
gray hair and the noble name of Botardiere into a 
constant subject for insolent laughter. 

2d. Danger — that rascal Robert, who by his 
reckless volleys frightened Ronceval, as I believe, 
with the malicious design of breaking my neck. 

‘^Know then well, nephew, that when I quitted 
your house, I had no wish whatever that you or 
yours should ever come to 77 iy house. If you had 
come, I had given orders to refuse you admittance. 
It would have shown at least a little courage on your 
part to venture to encounter this refusal. But, in- 
stead of that, you sent your daughter (no doubt by 
this time completely corrupted by the adventuress) 
to wheedle me, under the pretext of paying me my 
birth-day visit on St. Joseph’s day, but really and 
truly to smell a little after the legacy. 

‘‘I’ll not conceal it ; I tell you I’m disgusted with 
such mercenary attentions. The law provides the 
means of guarding against, and punishing too, such 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


US 

manoeuvring after rich relatives. Besides, I warn 
you that my will is made : this is how it commences : 

‘“I disinherit my nephew, Adolphe De Morville, 
his heirs and claimants, of every thing which the law 
permits me to keep from them, declaring beforehand 
that, if in a subsequent codicil I may happen to leave 
them anything, such a codicil must be null and void, 
as it must be the effect of such scheming operations 
as the Code classifies under the term Undue 
Influence, ' 

‘‘N. B. — I also warn you that next vacation I 
positively forbid Gerard, whose poaching propensi- 
ties I am too well acquainted with (like father, like 
son), to come to hunt on my grounds. My game- 
keepers have received the severest orders on this sub- 
ject. I don^t understand the idea that, under the 
pretext of nepotism^ people should insult my gray 
hair and kill my pheasants and rabbits besides. 

‘ ‘ I am (much against my will) your uncle, 

‘‘Edward Joseph De Botardiere.** 

M. De Morville flung the letter on the table, 
saying : 

“ Fortunately, all that is too ridiculous to be 
really annoying. Let us hope that our other letters 
shall put the surly old gentleman out of our 
head.’^ 

They opened and read the other letters. — 
Madame De Morville having read hers, which was 
only a short note, waited, reflecting, until her 
husband had got through his. Then she approached 
him, saying : 

Mon ami, Alphonsine was right. This note is 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

from Madame De Noirfeuille, an invitation. They 
are to have at the end of the week a grand hunt, 
private theatricals, and a ball. Three whole days 
are to be devoted to the amusements.** 

Well, then, Louise, you had better go.** 

Without you ? ’* 

You know that Spring is not very favorable to 
my constitution. So at this season I am always 
afraid of making any kind of change. * * 

‘^Well dear. I’m decided. I shall never go 
into society without you again. It was all very well 
during poor Mademoiselle Lagrange’s time, when I 
wanted to forget my jealousy. But now I’m so 
perfectly happy that I want no amusement.” 

^ ‘‘JLouise, do you want to inflict on me the 
regret of depriving you of your favorite pleasure, — 
that of talking with your relations, friends and 
acquaintances, whom our absolute retirement must 
make very cold towards us, if it does not estrange 
them altogether? My dear wife, I assure you, you 
shall, spare me much vexation by going to Madame 
De Noirfeuille’s and joining in those amusements, in 
which I shall take my share afterwards by listening 
to your description.” 

‘‘Listen, dear: since Mademoiselle Lagrange’s 
departure, Alphonsine, as you know, sleeps in the 
room next to mine; every evening therefore, I 
enjoy her company, and thus by means of the good 
Miss Mary, for she has been my teacher at least as 
much as Alphonsine’ s, I am completely cured of my 
jealousy. So it would cost me too great an effort 
to separate myself from my daughter.” 

“It needn’t be a separation of more than three 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. Jp 

days. During your absence Alphonsine can occupy 
her old room near Miss Mary’s^ ^ 

‘^Indeed, I would rather not go/* 

Louise, let us guard against exaggeration. Six 
months ago, when you were unwilling to have a 
governess between yourself and your daughter any 
longer, I yielded to your wish, in spite of myself, 
for I was certain that the task you were going to 
impose on yourself was beyond your strength. 
Fortunately, Miss Mary ^came. During these six 
months you have not left your daughter a single day. 
Just now, society, where you are so much ap- 
preciated, reclaims you. Why refuse the invi- 
tation?” 

Do you want me to accept it then?” said 
Madame De Morville, laughing. Take care ! I 
can enjoy myself much, very much indeed, at Saint 
Cyr. You know how cordially we are always 
received there.” 

‘‘For that very reason I ask you, and if neces- 
sary, ” said M. De Morville, smiling, “I even 
command you not to neglect this opportunity of 
amusing yourself.” 

“You do, really? ” 

“ I require it.” 

“Well then, I must obey you, great tyrant. But 
what letter is that you have just read and with 
which you do not appear over satisfied ? * * 

“It is pretty near bad news.” 

“ What is it about ? ” 

“ A project of which we have often and for a long 
time been wishing the success.” 

“The marriage with young M. De Favrolle? ” 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

Yes, we must renounce it.** 

‘^That I should be sorry for. But what is the 
cause of the change ? * 

‘‘Here, read.’* 

Madame De Morville took the letter and looked 
at the signature with troubled eagerness ; it was 
from M. De Favrolle, her husband’s old colonel. 

“ Has any misfortune occurred in the family, mon 
ami ^ * * 

“ No, thanks be to God, no. But read.” 

Madame De Morville read as follows ; — 

“Dear Old Comrade: — 

“You know I write neither often nor much at a 
time. The finest model of eloquence I have ever 
seen was the report of an officer who wrote in his 
paper the single word: Nothing. But in spite of 
such rhetorical doctrines and my laziness, I am 
going to write you at least a page. 

“You remember that castle in the air of ours so 
like those that old fogies of fathers are so fond of 
building ? ‘ You have a soft. * ‘ You have a daughter. ’ 
‘ Let us marry thefn. * ^ All right / * 

“Well, my old comrade, I’m sorry to say it is not 
all right. This is the second time that this rascal 
son of mine disconcerts me completely. Formerly 
he did not wish to enter the army. Imitating his 
father, however, he might have done a worse thing 
than become an officer. HoAvever, at last I made 
up my mind that it would be better to keep my son 
at home. Besides, he was not lazy. He loved the 
arts. He sketched landscapes, human figures and 
what not. At such things he worked away from 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


147 

morning till night, as happy and as merry as the 
poorest daub. — Now I liked all that. A year ago, 
he asked permission to go to Holland, to study six 
or eight months there with one of his friends. 
Nothing could be better. But on his return what 
a disappointment ! May I be blessed if I don’t 
think the Dutchman changed my son into somebody 
else ! I recognize him no longer. No more laugh- 
ing, no more talking, but from morning to night 
sketching women’s heads, pretending to call them 
Venus and Diana and other classic divinities. I am 
wrong in saying heads, I should say head, or rather 
face, for he only draws one, eternally one, to-day 
full front, to-morrow profile, next day three- 
quarters, and so on. He’s always at it. I can’t 
say that it is an ugly face, far from it ; but it has 
now got to be so that I can no longer bear the 
sight of it. Of course, he is dead in love — but with 
whom you will naturally ask, old comrade. On 
that point I can only say that one of his friends told 
me he seemed desperately smitten with his Pro- 
fessor’s pretty daughter, while he was in Holland. 
I tried to talk with him on the subject, but I found 
him as mute as a drum with the head knocked out. 
I then tried to operate a diversion, by mentioning 
our project of marrying him to your daughter. A 
most miserable manoeuvre, my old comrade ! re- 
pulsed with dreadful loss ! He entrenched himself 
behind a most positive refusal, not only impregnable 
but unapproachable. 

‘‘So, I have nothing for it but to tell you the 
whole story, and to let you dispose of your daughter 
as you think proper. Decidedly, she deserves some- 


the chA tea U MOR VILLE : 

thing better than my madman ! — ^There are times, 
sir, when I am angry enough to send him to old 
Nick, only I know that at heart he is the best poor 
fellow in the world ; and, even in spite of myself, I 
must pity him, seeing him so gloomy and dejected. 
So you see, old boy, we must renounce the hope of 
becoming grandfathers on the same day. More is 
the pity, for it would have been an excellent joke to 
shake your hand and call you ‘ Grandpapa ! ’ 

‘‘Adieu ! I must like you very much, besides being 
confoundedly ashamed of that son of mine, to have 
spun you off such a long yarn. — If by chance you 
mention my name to your wife, tell her that I am 
her very humble servant. Give me your hand, and 
let me shake it like an old comrade of the Bidassoa. 

“I saw our old general, Soult, the other day. He 
is breaking fast — the portfolio of war is too much for 
him. Ah 1 old friend, the Marshal of France is not 
the only one who finds his life, strength and spirits 
no longer what they were in 1814, when we struggled 
against the English in the wild gorges of the 
Pyrenees ! * * 

“You see,” said M. De Morville to his wife, “ we 
must renounce this marriage, and I am very sorry 
for it.” 

“It is certainly very much to be regretted, man 
amu However, I am almost consoled when I reflect 
that, after a few interviews between M. De Favrolle’s 
son and Alphonsine, we might find ourselves in a 
still worse position.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ Is it not quite possible that you might be obliged 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


149 

to write to M. De Favrolle : ‘ Decidedly, my dear 

friend, my daughter does not much like your son, 
and as her happiness is the first question, I beg you 
will recall Theodore, and forget that we ever thought 
of the marriage/ Would you have preferred that 
the rupture should come from our side ? * * 

‘‘No,” replied M. De Morville, reflecting; “and 
perhaps it is better that things are as they are.” 

Leaving Madame De Morville to console her hus- 
band for this mischance, we shall now follow Alphon- 
^ine to her room, where she is reading the letter of 
her brother Gerard, the young rhetorician in the 
college Louis le Grand^ with whom we are not yet 
acquainted. The correspondence between the young 
people was an artless 'interchange of sentiments, and 
was confined to the narrow circle in which they 
moved, the one in the college — the other in the 
Chateau Morville. 

aK ^ ^ ^ ^ 

“ Really, dear Alphonsine,” wrote Gerard, 

“ you make me envy your good spirits, you are 
amused with every thing. I could never imagine 
how the two years that separate our ages could ever 
bring about such a difference in our manner of seeing 
things. You are still a child, with a child’s desires, 
while with me every day brings new thoughts and 
these thoughts take me far away from the college. 
In the midst of these insipid exercises, of these grand 
phrases copied from old authors which, I confess, in- 
spire me with little enthusiasm, I am always thinking, 
almost in spite of myself, .on my future career, and 
on the position which I am to hold in the world. 
There is something in me which grows every day 


150 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


more and more discordant with what is said and 
what is done here. The sports I once used to 
delight in so wildly, are now tame and insipid. I 
pass my recreations all alone, except when from time 
to time, I take part in the serious discussions got up 
between some philosophy students. Next year I 
shall probably be a philosopher myself. 

How happy you must be, Alphonsine, with your 
Miss Mary, who makes your studies so pleasant 1 I 
can’t find for my part, among our professors or mas- 
ters, any one to be compared to her. I am quite 
curious to know her. Don’t imagine, however, that 
I believe she corresponds a bit to your description. 
In your letters there is all the exaggeration of a little 
school girl enthusiastic about her mistress. You 
know nobody else, and for want of having seen the 
world, you give her all imaginable perfections. But 
I will judge all this for myself, and then we shall 
see ! — You must try and prevail on father to take me 
away at the end of this year. It seems to me that 
under his direction and with the help of his library, 
I could study more advantageously at home than at 
college. And then you know how happy I should 
be to be once more with you all. 

Kiss Pa and Ma for me and give my regards to 
Pivolet. Is Uncle De Botardiere still furious ? 

P. S. You can no longer make fun of my hoarse 
voice that could neither go up nor down the scale : 
my music-master says I have a regular barytone, and 
that I could sing parts written for Tamburini.” 

Alphonsine paid little attention to the melancholy 
tinge already beginning to appear in her brother’s 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 251 

letters : she only began thinking what music she 
should order from Paris, overjoyed at the idea of 
singing once more with her brother Gerard. 

We shall complete our knowledge of the Morville 
correspondence of this day, by going to Miss Mary’s 
room. 

She is seated at her writing desk, her forehead 
resting on her two hands. An open letter lies be- 
fore her. As she reads it, bitter tears roll down her 
cheeks, which she hardly thinks of wiping away. 

It comes from Henry O’Reilly, an officer of the 
Forty-second regiment, then fighting in Afghanistan. 
It had been sent to Dublin, having been written long 
before he received the letter Miss Mary had sent him 
the morning after her arrival at Chateau Morville. 
The contents were as follows : — 

My Dear Mary : — 

‘‘ How painfully your letter has afflicted me ! 
What ! your honored father, my dear old friend, 
obliged to sell Clara Cottage, the scene of so many 
happy days, and to accept a clerkship to maintain 
his family ! Just as he was approaching his time for 
tranquil repose, to think that the poor gentleman is 
forced to seek by such humble employment the means 
of sustaining the very existence of those he loves so 
well ! 

‘‘ I have been also deeply impressed by your deter- 
mination to become a governess so as to be able to be 
of some assistance to your family. It is a noble 
thought. There I recognize your bold heart. Once 
more then I can say with all my soul : Dear Mary, 
I am satisfied ; I am proud of you ! 


152 the CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

‘‘However, you must permit me to speak to you 
with my usual sincerity. A governess’s position, in 
any case, is a very delicate one, and it becomes in- 
finitely more so, when she unites, as you do, charms 
of person with those of head and heart. 

“ God forbid that I should discourage you, my 
dear little girl ; but I must tell you the truth. Rely- 
ing on your steadiness, your rectitude, I signal you* 
the rocks, sure that as soon as you know them you 
will avoid them. I don’t know as yet who are the 
persons with whom you are to live : your next letter 
shall enlighten me on that point. But whoever they 
are, and without denying that they may be a rare and 
honorable exception, I must tell you beforehand, my 
dear Mary, what are generally the difficulties of the 
peculiar position in which a governess finds herself 
towards the family of which she has become a mem- 
ber. If I color things a little you can easily tell why. 

“ One of the dangers of your new position, which 
you will no doubt consider trifling, but which on the 
contrary, I consider very serious, is this : 

“You will have to live between the jealousy of the 
servants and — if not exactly the disdain — at least the 
relative superiority of the masters. The servants, 
not understanding the value of your merits, will re- 
fuse to do you their little services because you have 
not the means of commanding them, that is to say, 
of paying for them. The masters, if they recognize 
your brilliant qualities at all, will make a display of 
them with pride, but without granting you a particle 
more of consideration. They will consider your 
salary payment enough. — But I am more afraid 
of the animosity of the servants. Mean e7ie7nies are 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. U3 

always the worst; and the worst of all humiliations 
are those proceeding from a source so much beneath 
us that we are obliged to bear them in silence rather 
than demean ourselves by appearing to notice them. 

Dignified without haughtiness, affectionate with- 
out familiarity, reserved without coldness, keep your- 
self strictly within the rigorous accomplishment of 
your duties. Isolate yourself prudently in the midst 
of the family. Your natural frankness and goodness 
of heart might make you, before the novelty was 
over, think yourself in your own house; and the 
correction of such a mistake might prove very bitter 
to such a heart as yours. 

‘‘This distrust is painful, I am well aware; it 
creates a sort of void around you, but it is necessary. 

“ In short, if, for the climax of your misery, you 
do not feel yourself filled with great affection for 
your pupil ; if the pleasures of this intellectual ma- 
ternity do not compensate you for the thousand 
vexations, perhaps the thousand bitter mortifications 
you may have to undergo : in such a case, my dear 
Mary, leave the house at once ; your life would be- 
come insupportable. 

“ But there is another danger of which I must give 
you notice. Unless your pupil is an only child and 
her mother a widow, you are going to live on inti- 
mate terms with the members of perhaps a numerous 
family. You shall then be thrown into daily inter- 
course with the relatives of the young girl entrusted 
to your charge. It is not at all impossible but that 
some of the young men, speculating on your isolation 
in the middle of a crowd where you are always 
regarded as a stranger, will look on you as a prey. 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


154 

easily captured on account of the neglect or weari- 
ness to which they will consider you abandoned. 
They will not trouble themselves to inquire if your 
faith is pledged, or if your heart is pure ; they see 
that are you alone and without protection ; they will 
persuade themselves that you are heartbroken with 
your condition ; they will imagine they are doing a 
charitable work in proffering their infamous consola- 
tions ; and there are some of them depraved enough 
and mean enough to calculate on your unwillingness 
to lose your poor situation as an effectual means of 
preventing any revelation on your part, of „their dis- 
graceful pursuits ! 

Such may be the dangers of your new situation, 
my dearest Mary. I have not indeed hesitated to 
darken the picture, and for this reason : 

If you have the good fortune to meet with an 
honorable family, capable of appreciating you, my 
poor dear little girl, and there are many of such no- 
ble exceptions, your gratitude towards them will be 
the more lively as your apprehensions have been 
great. 

If, on the contrary, you are to be exposed to the 
intimacy of unworthy men, you will at least be 
made aware of the dangers that surround you, which 
your ignorance of the wicked ways of the world 
might otherwise have concealed from you, perhaps 
until the very day when your honest sensitive pride 
would encounter a stunning and most cruel blow. 

Now, dear Mary, a few words, if you please, on 
my own affairs. Of course, I am and I regard my- 
self as much engaged to you to-day, when your 
family has met some misfortunes, as when Clara 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 155 

Cottage, with all its luxuries and delights, was your 
happy home. Our marriage has been decided on by 
our parents ; we have plighted our word. My reso- 
lution is unchanged and unchangeable, and so should 
yours be likewise. I honor my father too deeply to 
suppose for a moment that he sees any obstacle to 
our union. I have never found him otherwise than 
perfectly just and honorable in all things, and in my 
mind’s eye I see him saying, and I drink in his words 
with delight: ‘Henry, don’t be slow in marrying 
the daughter of that honest man who has sacrificed 
his fortune to the claims of friendship and of honor. 
You should be proud, sir, of entering into such a 
noble family.’ 

“I cannot, however, return to Ireland before fur- 
ther promotion. I am told they’re going to make a 
major of me in a short time, and I know they must 
do something of the kind without delay, as the Af- 
ghans have killed off nearly all our officers j indeed 
the Khyber Pass has almost ; annihilated our regi- 
ment. We are now on the march to Cabul. 
Whether we shall ever get there, or get back, or 
how this war is going to end, the Lord only knows. 
All I know is that the very first moment I obtain 
leave of absence after my promotion (you feel I can- 
not go sooner), I shall have the pleasure of being 
authorized by your father to escort you back to your 
own house. 

“Indulge no longer, then, my darling Mary, in 
that false logic of yours, at which indeed I am very 
much surprised, knowing as I do the solidity of your 
judgment. Never imagine that an honorable man, 
engaged to an honorable woman whom he loves no 


156 THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE : 

less tenderly than he is loved by her, can ever break 
his engagement under the miserable pretext that 
‘ she is no longer rich. ’ 

‘‘God bless you, my dearest Mary; I shall soon 
write again. 

“ Yours as ever, 

“Henry O’Reilly.” 

^‘Poor Henry!” thought the governess; “how 
great shall his surprise and joy be on receiving my 
letter, in which I tried to describe to him the excel- 
lent family among whom I have been living the last 
six months. How groundless he shall find his appre- 
hensions. To increase his happiness I shall write to 
him this very day the following words : 

“Be perfectly easy, my dear Henry; all the fond 
hopes of my first letter have been realized, even sur- 
passed 1 I am surrounded here by the most tender 
attentions, the most delicate regards. Every one 
strives to make me forget that I am a stranger in the 
family. M. De Morville, his wife, and his daughter 
are towards me more like old friends, like kind rela- 
tions, than anything else.” “Only,” added the 
governess with a sigh, “ I cannot tell him that he 
has been completely mistaken. Alas ! there was 
only too much truth in what he said about the ani- 
mosity of the servants towards the poor governess ! 
But, Henry, as well as all my other friends, must 
never know what bitter tears I am often forced to 
shed here in secret. Yes, mean enemies are always 
the worst. Low and groundless malice can at last 
render life insupportable, however quiet or happy it 
may appear on the surface.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


157 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE SECRET SUFFERER. — AN EVENING LESSON. 

A FEW days after the date of the last chapter, 
Madame De Morville was to set out for St. Cyr, in 
answer to her friend’s invitation. Madame De Noir- 
feuille belonged to an old and distinguished family ; 
rich and fashionable, she was much sought after, and 
her chateau, beautifully situated on the Loire, not 
far from Tours, was usually filled, every spring and 
fall, with the best society of Paris and Touraine. 
Consequently such a visit always gave Madame De 
Morville much pleasure, and she invariably returned 
from it with improved health and spirits. 

Miss Mary, Alphonsine, and her mother were 
seated in the dining-room waiting for breakfast, and 
as it was long after nine o’clock, they could not un- 
derstand why M. De Morville had not yet made his 
appearance. 

At last, there’s father,” said Alphonsine, hearing 
his step on the stairs, and rising to meet him as he 
entered the room. He was very pale, and his eyes 
seemed sunken from suffering and red from recent 
tears. 

What ails you, dear husband? ” asked Madame 
De Morville earnestly. ‘‘ Have you been sick during 
the night? ” 

I, Louise? Oh ! no, thank God ! ” he replied, 


158 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


trying to smile, and kissing his daughter’s forehead. 
Then saluting Miss Mary in a friendly manner, he 
took his usual place at the table, in the midst of an 
unpleasant, uneasy silence. 

^‘Why, what’s the matter this morning?” he 
asked with forced good humor. We are all silent, 
we look at each other ” 

‘‘The reason is, my dear husband,” said Madame 
De Morville, “ that we find you very much changed 
in your looks since last night.” 

“Oh ! ” said M. De Morville smiling, “I am no 
longer either very young or very strong, I see. I 
can’t indulge in the least little dissipation over 
nights, without every body being able to see traces 
of it next morning. I must own up to a crime then, 
which I can no longer conceal. Yes, I will acknowl- 
edge that, lured by a most entertaining book, and 
desiring to write out some very striking extracts, I 
went to bed when it was very late, and then I was so 
restless that I could not sleep. In vain did I try this 
morning, by remaining in bed longer than usual, to 
efface the marks of my guilt, of my high treason 
against King Health.” 

No answer followed these words, as is the case of- 
ten when people doubt the truth of what they hear. 
The silence was at last broken by Madame De 
Morville — 

Mon said she, “I will not go this 

evening.” 

“ Ah ! Louise, that is too severe a punishment for 
an imprudence which I did not think was so culpa- 
ble. What ! my punishment is to be to deprive you 
of a pleasure ? ’ ’ 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR AIN E. 


159 


** I cannot bear to go away in the state of uneasi- 
ness I’m in about your health.” 

‘‘ Do you prefer to pain me by remaining ? Be- 
sides, dear Louise, why go away in any state but a 
pleasant one? It is only ten o’clock now, and this 
evening, I promise you, you shall have no cause 
whatever to be uneasy. Any way, will you not leave 
behind you the most charming little nurse that 
patient ever dreamed of? ” 

And he smiled as he looked at his daughter, who 
came to throw her arms around his neck. 

“ Oh ! mother, don’t be uneasy,” said Alphonsine, 
‘‘I’ll be responsible for him.” 

“I pronounce myself cured beforehand,” said M. 
De Morville; “and so for your fee I will ask Miss 
Mary to let you off from your studies till dinner, my 
daughter ; you can help mother in preparing for her 
journey.” 

This scene had been observed by Mary with an 
interest mingled with uneasiness regarding M. De 
Morville’ s health ; for she too had been struck with 
the traces of suffering so evident in his features. 
But, towards the end of the meal, Madame De Mor- 
ville allowed herself to be convinced by her husband’s 
entreaties, and no change was made in the project 
of her departure, provided always that her husband’s 
improvement, already commenced, would continue. 
Alphonsine accompanied her mother to her room to 
get ready. 

Miss Mary (so she was now called by everybody), 
wishing to take advantage of whatever time she had 
for herself, went to enjoy a little walk in the park, 
thinking on the dear family at home, and of course 


IQO the chAteau morville: 

not forgetting her betrothed, that noble man, so 
tender and true, now battling with innumerable dan- 
gers at the other end of the world, and whom she 
was to see not before two or three years longer, per- 
haps never. As she was passing slowly along a 
hedge, she thought she heard a smothered cough, 
but, immersed in her reflections, she paid no atten- 
tion to it, and continued her walk. At the end of 
the alley she turned and came back at the other side 
of the hedge : her light step on the thick grass made 
no noise, so that, without being heard, she now 
suddenly found herself in face of a circular recess, on 
one side of which was a marble bench. There, to 
her horror, she saw M. De Morville lying on his 
side and pressing to his mouth a handkerchief 
steeped in blood. 

She was on the point of screaming, but M. De 
Morville, starting up, rushed towards l^r, and seized 
her by the arm, saying, almost in a whisper — 
Silence, for Heaven’s sake ! ” 

‘‘But, you want relief, sir ” 

“ Call nobody ! ” 

“Not even Madame De Morville?’’ 

“ From h^r particularly I wish to conceal what has 
happened.” 

“ So then, sir, you deceived her when you said you 
were getting better ? ’ ’ 

“ For twenty years I have been so deceiving her,” 
and he tottered back to the bench. Miss Mary made 
another movement towards the chateau ; but, M. De 
Morville, giving her a suppliant glance, said with a 
feeble voice — “ Don’t leave me, I pray you.” 

Miss Mary, divided between fear and commisera- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. IQl 

tion, sal down beside M. De Morville, powerless 
to relieve him, and very much pained to see him 
suffer. 

^^How I must ask your pardon, Miss Mary!’’ 
said he, after a few moments’ silence. ‘‘What an 
unpleasant sight I present to you 1 But, I feel that 
the crisis is near. Thanks be to God, it is no more 
than the periodical effect, at this time of the year, 
of a wound I received long ago, and which you see 
I have taken the notion of surviving. I hope you 
are beginning to recover a little from the agitation 
which I have occasioned you.” 

“ Even if I could for a moment, sir, forget the 
kindness I meet with in your family, the sight of 
your sufferings might readily excuse my alarm. But, 
why do you continue to conceal from Madame De 
Morville an accident which may lead to such serious 
consequences ? ” 

“ I have been able so far to conceal from my wife 
and daughter these symptoms of a disease not 
dangerous in itself as I think, but at which the 
affection of those I love might easily take alarm. 
And then, you know, there is no more unpleasant 
position than that of a man who, after having wooed 
and won a woman’s heart and hand, gives her in 
return incessant anxiety about a life that she thinks 
is incessantly in danger. Such selfishness was not 
in my nature. No, I have not had the courage to 
condemn a woman to endless uneasiness, and thus 
keep her far away from a world that amuses her and 
in which she is considered so great an acquisition. 
Just say, Miss Mary, what kind of a life should my 

wife and daughter’s be beside an invalid’s sofa? 

8 * 


IQ2 ’THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 

Every morning to examine my features in order to 
know if a smile can be permitted in the house 
during the day ! Oh, no ! I could not impose such 
an existence as that on my family. Thanks then 
to my precautions, to my self-command, I have 
been able to spare them, so far, the knowledge of 
this melancholy secret. You have surprised it. Miss 
Mary, but I implore you not to reveal it. Your 
pity for a few transient moments of suffering might 
fill forever with alarm two hearts that are so tender 
and so devoted to me. To a load of grief don’t add 
another of remorse.” 

Remorse do you say, sir ! ” 

If the mystery of my retired life was discovered, 
would not the world, so strict in demanding the 
performance of duty (often as it may sneer at it), 
accuse Madame De Morville of heartless dissipation, 
of culpable indifference? My sufferings would be 
infinitely increased by the blame I should have 
drawn -upon her. Accordingly, I beg of you once 
more, never to mention a syllable of this matter, 
since the consequences, as you see, might be ex- 
tremely grave.” 

Where is the woman that could not fully appreci- 
ate the noble delicacy of such self-sacrifice? Miss 
Mary comprehended it all but too well, and M. De 
Morville saw the eyes of the young girl filled with 
tears. 

‘‘You pity me,” said he, commanding his voice 
and trying to smile. “You are wrong to pity me, 
unless perhaps for the past ; for, in future, if I stand 
in need of any help, I have now at least somebody 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. XQS 

to apply to without alarming my family. So you 
promise to keep the secret, Miss Mary ? ’ * 

‘‘I do indeed, sir,’* said the governess, in a grave 
and feeling tone. promise until you authorize 
me, until you even order me, to inform Madame De 
Morville of this secret, though no one has a better 
right to know it than she, for your reserve towards 
her is almost an injustice.” 

‘‘What do you say. Miss Mary?” 

The governess listened a while, and then said : 

“I hear Alphonsine’s voice. She is looking for 
me.” 

“Please go and meet her at once. Miss Mary: 
let her not see me in this state of paleness and 
prostration. Don’t be uneasy. This crisis has 
been painful, but it has relieved me; I assure you I 
feel much better now.” 

The governess, hearing her pupil approach, 
hastened to meet her, and led her away from the 
hedge. 

M. De Morville spoke the truth. He experienced 
an immediate relief caused by the very violence of 
the crisis. His features resumed by degrees their 
usual tranquillity, and his wife, so uneasy in the 
morning, set out in the evening, completely re- 
assured. 

When her carriage had disappeared at the turn of 
the avenue, M. De Morville embraced his daughter 
and retired to his room ; and Alphonsine and her 
governess went to resume their ordinary occupa- 
tions. That evening. Miss Mary was less attentive 
than usual to her pupil’s questions: her ear was 
always on the stretch, and she dreaded every 


7^4 ^ VILLE : 

moment to hear some alarming noise announce a 
return of M. De Morville’s attack. This man, 
always so kind towards her, now suffering alone and 
in secret, for fear of troubling and alarming his 
family, inspired her with a commiseration almost 
filial. She thought of the loneliness in which he was 
going to live during Madame De Morville’s absence, 
a loneliness that commenced the very evening of the 
day he had suffered so much, when he was still suf- 
fering perhaps, far from his daughter now so busy 
at her lessons, and thinking of nothing else. 

So she all at once interrupted her pupil’s studies 
by saying : 

Alphonsine, you said this morning to your 
mother, when, seeing your father so unwell, she 
was hesitating about going : ‘ Oh ! mother, don’t 

be uneasy. I’ll be responsible for him.’ It was a 
good thought, but why not put it into practice ? ’ * 
‘‘Oh! Heaven! Miss Mary,” said Alphonsine 
anxiously to her governess, “can my father be 
seriously unwell ? ’ ’ 

“Without being exactly unwell, he has been 
poorly enough these days past : your mother’s 
departure deprives him of the few hours’ intimate 
conversation he used to have with her every 
evening. Why don’t you ask him if he would 
be pleased to allow you study in his room? ” 

“ Would you permit it ? ” 

“Most certainly, my dear child.” 

“What a splendid idea ! ” exclaimed the young girl 
joyfully. “ But what will you do. Miss Mary ? ” 

“ I will accompany you, of course, and then our 
labors shall not be interrupted.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


165 


A few moments afterwards, a servant brought back 
M. De Morville’s delighted acceptance of the offer 
made to him, and Alphonsine immediately pro- 
ceeded to what she called her moving out^ with all 
the eagerness and merriment peculiar to youth at a 
change of place. They were soon all comfortably 
installed in M. De Morville’s library, the host at 
the fireside, his guests seated opposite each other 
at a little table covered with books, over which 
floated the softened light of a green-shaded lamp. 

Miss Mary,” said M. De Morville with a smile, 
of course I shall not trouble Alphonsine and get 
her scolded for inattention, so if you please I’ll just 
take up the book with which I had intended to 
pass my evening. I will keep still and promise to 
be a very good boy, though at the same time,” he 
added, taking his daughter’s hand, a very happy 
one to have you both so near me. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh! father, what a delightful evening!” cried 
Alphonsine, fixing all her little things in order, 
and settling herself to work. Then she added : 

“ But my dear little father, we can’t make that con- 
vention of perfect silence mutually binding. I have 
to ask Miss Mary the hard questions, you know.” 

“ Certainly, my child. Ask away, you won’t 
disturb me in the least.” 

But the governess, in order to amuse M. De Mor- 
ville, preferred that her pupil should aUswer the 
hard questions herself, and accordingly drawing 
her along from deduction to deduction by ingenious 
questions, she gave her an opportunity of showing 
off to her father the pretty fair fund of learning that 
she had already acquired. 


XQe THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

At first M. De Morville paid no attention to 
what was going on; but he was soon struck by 
some questions completely above the range of a 
young lady^s ordinary studies : this was not the way 
in which himself had received his instruction ; he 
listened with increasing interest. If Miss Mary 
questioned with skill, her pupil answered with pre- 
cision, clearness, and to the point. Memory alone 
did not always suggest her replies ; her sound, 
sagacious judgment was often called to bear upon 
the question under discussion. 

M. De Morville, more and more interested, 
turned himself around in his great arm-chair, the 
better to gaze, in his joy and pride, at his child, 
whose progress had been so rapid and who expressed 
herself with so much correctness and intelligence. 
He contemplated her with a sort of calm ecstasy ; 
she was neither beautiful nor even pretty, but her 
pure and fresh countenance was stamped with a 
serene frankness, an innocent happiness, delightful 
to behold, and fully as charming as beauty. In 
order to be readier in her replies to her governess, 
she had risen from her seat : her perfect figure 
revealed itself to advantage ; her dark eyes, large 
and mild, flashed this evening more vividly and 
more gaily than usual ; her complexion had be- 
come animated with a light carnation tinge; and 
whenever the question was decidedly puzzling, the^ 
young girl, by a movement of native grace, raised 
her eyes to the ceiling, at the same time flinging 
back from her forehead her long chestnut tresses, 
as if they had obstructed the free flow of her 
thoughts. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


167 


M. De Morville, absorbed in the contemplation 
of his daughter, forgot that painful constraint, 
bitter as remorse, which he had experienced for 
some time past in Miss Mary’s presence. He 
listened eagerly to every question, trembling when 
it appeared too difficult, triumphing when the 
answer was found, and then turning to Miss Mary 
with a gesture full of paternal joy and grati- 
tude. 

Just then in came the housekeeper. She had not 
been informed of the getting up of the improvised 
little party, so her astonishment was not slight at 
seeing Miss Mary and Alphonsine installed in M. De 
Morville’ s library. 

It was part of Madame Pivolet’s avocations to 
attend to M. De Morville’ s rooms, and no one was 
surprised to see her cross the apartment slowly and 
enter the laboratory, a small room off the library, 
where M. De Morville spent much of his time in 
making scientific experiments. 

When she had disappeared, Alphonsine, doubt- 
ful of her triumph, asked timidly of M. De Mor- 
ville — 

Father, have I answered pretty well? 

^‘Wonderfully, my dear child, you have surpassed 
all my expectations.” 

“Oh! how glad I am,” cried the poor child, 
throwing herself into Miss Mary’s arms. “ Ah I 
father,” she continued, still clinging round her gov- 
erness’s neck, and turning towards him, her face 
blushing with happiness, “you don’t know that if I 
have satisfied you it is to my dear Miss Mary that I 
owe it. It is so sweet to learn with her ! She 


168 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


makes you like everything, love everything, exer- 
cises, piano, drawing, history, geography, every- 
thing, in fact, even arithmetic! Just think — making 
you love arithmetic ! But what of that 1 She can 
make you love whatever she likes. She can make 
you do whatever she likes. Still I defy her to pre- 
vent me from loving her 1 ’’ 

Alphonsine,’^ replied Mary, laughing, is not 
from me you have learned this flattery anyway. ’ ’ 

‘‘ My daughter just says simply what we all 
think,’* said M. De Morville, speaking to Miss 
Mary for the first time. 

He was about to continue when he heard some 
noise at the door of the laboratory. 

‘‘Who is there? ” he demanded in surprise. 

“It is Pivolet,” replied Alphonsine, “did you 
not see her pass just now? ” 

“What are you doing there, Madame Pivolet?” 
he asked, turning towards the door. 

“Sir,” replied the housekeeper, making her ap- 
pearance, loaded with some empty boxes which had 
come that day from Paris, “it is I. I'm attending 
to my duty, I' 7n doing my duty.” 

“ Oh, you could have put that off till to-morrow.” 

“ Sir,” replied Madame Pivolet, in a solemn tone, 
“ one never knows to-day what to-morrow may bring 
forth.” 

“What?” said M. De Morville, gaily, his spirits 
having been cheered up a little by the agreeable 
hour he had just passed, “ what ! a necromancer like 
you to utter such a sentence as that ! Surely one 
that possesses all the secrets of magic should not be 
embarrassed by such a trifle as to-morrow ! ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


169 


'^How, Pivolet/^ exclaimed Alphonsine with a 
hearty laugh, you, a necromancer? Why, that’s 
splendid ! ” 

Your honored father has threatened me with 
exile. Mademoiselle, if I make use of magic receipts 
to break the charm which a malignant person has 
thrown over a poor man’s wife,” replied Madame 
Pi volet in a constrained and suffering tone. ‘‘ There- 
fore, I cannot reply to your question. Exile is sus- 
pended over my head. I bow myself, I prostrate 
myself before it ’ ’ 

Only that the old shepherd’s wife is rapidly re- 
covering,” said M. De Morville, ‘‘and that ChSnot 
himself has at last seen the extravagance of your in- 
cantations, Madame Pivolet, I should not jest at all 
on such a subject. But when a folly is not danger- 
ous I can look on it with indulgence.” 

“ They that live shall see,” said the housekeeper 
mysteriously. “ Daddy Chenot’s wife is not cured 
yet — far from it ; but, as I do not want to expose 
myself to exile, I shall keep my mouth shut. ’ ’ 

“There you are right, Madame Pivolet.” 

“ I am born to obey and to be silent, sir, you to 
command and to speak: I bow to my fate,” replied 
the housekeeper with a deep reverence to her master; 
then, casting a sly side glance at Miss Mary, she 
added : “ They that live shall see. I return to my 
empty boxes. They that live shall see,” and she 
vanished into the laboratory. 

“Miss Mary,” resumed M. De Morville, smiling, 
“ Madame Pivolet made her appearance just in time 
to spare your blushes. She interrupted me just as I 
was commencing to speak. But, take courage, it will 


110 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


be to your mother, if you permit me, that I shall 
write, informing her what a treasure we have found 
in you.’* 

‘‘ Oh ! father what a noble and charming idea ! ” 
said Alphonsine, embracing her governess, who re- 
turned her caresses with delight. I am sure Miss 
Mary will not be displeased with such praise as that. 
Her father, mother, and dear little sisters, of whom 
she often speaks to me, shall be so happy to learn 
how much she is beloved here ! If they often think 
on her, I assure you she is not ungrateful — she is al- 
ways thinking on them. Sometimes I actually accuse 
Miss Mary of not being here at all, but away olf in 
Ireland — her dear Ireland ! — Then, father, you 
know, to prevent me from telling about her clandes- 
tine excursions, what does she do but take me along 
with her 1 My Heavens, yes, while you think us 
both seated quietly in our study-room, we are off 
wandering through Green Erin^ as Miss Mary calls 
her dear old land. I can tell you ever so many 
things about the holy wells, the round towers, the 
old abbeys, and the good, brave, hospitable people. 
Our favorite English reading-book is a book of Irish 
poetry. Here are some beautiful lines that I still re- 
member from yesterday’s lesson.” 

And she immediately repeated for her father, who 
understood English very well, the following extract 
with much enthusiasm, yet with perfect correctness 
of pronunciation : — 

*' Her woods are tall and straight, grove rising over grove ; 

Trees flourish in her glens below, and on her heights above ; 

Oh I in heart and in soul I shall ever love 
The fair hills of holy Ireland. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, ^ 7 / 

** But, oh ! my lament is in bitterness outpoured. 

To hear the Gaels are scattered by the Saxon sword. 

Oh ! wo of woes, to see a foreign spoiler horde 
On the fair hills of holy Ireland. 

« «■ * « * • • 

** How I long, how I pine again to behold 
The land that belongs to the brave Gael of old ; 

Far dearer to my heart than a gift of gems or gold 
Are the fair hills of holy Ireland.’* 

The feeling that the young girl threw into these 
words revealed so much of the noble goodness of 
her heart as well as of her perfect mastery over 
some of the difficulties of the English language, 
that her father could scarcely suppress his tears of 
delight. 

‘‘Ah! my child,** said he, “if Miss Mary carries 
you off to her dear Ireland, it is because her heart 
is there. It is because in that noble country, so 
beautiful yet so unfortunate, she has left behind 
her a family that she so tenderly and devotedly 
loves. * * 

Alphonsine again embraced her governess, and 
the two young girls remained a few moments in 
each other’s arms. Miss Mary not uttering a word, 
but by a slight gesture seeming to disclaim M. De 
Morville’s praise and to rid herself of a painful 
recollection. 

A profound silence prevailed for a few seconds, 
during which Madame Pivolet entered from the 
neighboring chamber, and crossed the apartment 
without being seen, just like those mysterious per- 
sonages in the play that we see passing at the back 
of the stage, but who are unperceived by the other 
actors. 

Alphonsine was the first to break the silence, by 
saying to her father : 


172 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 


‘‘By speaking to Miss Mary of her dear Ireland, 
I’m afraid I have made her melancholy.” 

“ No, not at all, my dear child ! ” exclaimed the 
young Irish girl earnestly and trying to hide the 
tears starting in her eyes, “recollections of one’s 
country and one’s family are good for us.” 

“You are really in earnest. Miss Mary? ” asked 
Alphonsine, smiling. “You are not angry with me? 
Well, prove it ! ” 

“ Oh, with all my heart — what must I do ? ” 

“ Grant me my usual reward — that is, if you are 
satisfied with me this evening — ” 

^“That is for M. De Morville to say,” said Miss 
Mary. “ He has heard your answering, and I 
think his satisfaction will be quite as important as 
mine.” 

“I consider Alphonsine to deserve every possible 
reward,” said M. De Morville. “But what A the 
reward ? ” he asked. 

“When I have got through my lessons, and if 
Miss Mary is satisfied with me,” replied Alphonsine, 
“ to close the day, she always reads for me some 
favorite passage of hers, and to-day she promised to 
read me Jocelyn' s farewell and departure.” 

“That makes me regret that I have sent Lamar- 
tine’s works to be bound, and Jocelyn with the rest 
of them,” said M. De Morville. “Only for that I 
should have had my reward as well as you, though^ 
for that matter, I have no better claim for a reward 
than the happiness I have enjoyed here this even- 
ing. ” ^ 

“ Ah ! but I have taken the precaution, you see,” 
said Alphonsine gaily, pulling a book out of her 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


17S 


workbasket. I have brought a dear Jocelyfi here, 
being fully determined on getting my promised 
reward,’* and she presented the volume to her 
governess, who, however, hesitated to take it. 

‘‘I ask it of you as a favor. Miss Mary;” said M. 
De Morville, ‘‘comply with Alphonsine’s desire. 
Don’t let the dear child go away sorry for having 
come to spend the evening in my company.” 

Miss Mary took the book and turned over the 
pages to find the passage alluded to. 

“You remember, father,” said Alphonsine, taking 
a little chair and seating herself between him and 
her governess, Jocelyn has just learned that his 
sister is obliged to renounce a most desirable mar- 
riage : the little fortune of the family divided 
between two children, makes her dowry too small. 
But the noble brother, in order that his sister should 
have a decent dowry, declares to his mother that he 
wishes to become a priest and renounce the world. 
Only, you know he don’t want to enter the seminary 
until his sister is married. His sole desire is to find 
in her happiness the reward of his self-sacrifice, of 
which himself alone knows the secret. We have just 
got through his sister’s wedding, and I remember 
very well the concluding lines : 

** Et je disais tout bas, dans mon coeur satisfait : 

Ce bonheur est 4 moi, car c'est moi qui I’ai fait ! " 

(I kept saying to my heart as it fluttered glad applause : 

This happiness is mine, 'tis I that am its cause !) 

At these words, M. De Morville called to mind 
the many affecting points of resemblance between 
Jocelyn' s position and Miss Mary’s : for she too had 
abandoned her dear family in order to be able to 
afford it some relief in its necessities. He prepared 


^ 7 ^ the chA tea U MOR VILLE : 

himself then to listen to the reading of the passage 
with redoubled interest, and scrupulously obeyed a 
little nod of Alphonsine’s enjoining strict silence. 

Miss Mary commenced reading, in a perfectly 
natural tone, the description of the last day the 
young man was ever to pass at his father’s house, 
when the old familiar faces were never to be seen 
again, when everything, animate and inanimate, 
seemed to send him its last trembling adieu. The 
sweet, sad, silvery voice of the young Irish girl con- 
tributed wonderfully to the effect of the passage, 
and its melancholy character grew more and more 
intense as the poem went on to detail all those little 
acts of love, the last that were ever to pass between 
the young martyr and those he held dearest on earth, 
and which no doubt vividly recalled to her imagina- 
tion that last terrible gloomy day she had herself 
passed in her poor parents’ house in Dublin. When- 
ever they met, the poem went on to say, they did 
not dare to speak, for fear the altered sound of the 
voice should reveal the stifled grief, the breaking 
heart. They came and went ; the mother and sis- 
ter, not trusting themselves together, feverishly 
busied themselves in making preparations for the 
departure of the beloved son, the darling brother, 
whom they were never more to see ; with every little 
thing that they put into his trunks, putting in as 
many loving thoughts and passionate blessings. 
They sat together at their last meal, but it was in 
vain they tried to eat, and talk, and keep up a good 
face ; the burning tears would start, and the heart- 
drawn bursting sighs would be heard. 

Poor Mary struggled courageously against her 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


175 


emotion ; she was afraid of appearing to recognize a 
personal allusion in the picture drawn by the great 
French poet ; but the more reality her voice gave 
the sentiments, the more deeply the sentiments 
themselves, so analogous to her position, penetrated 
into her soul, and it required an extraordinary effort 
of self-command to restrain her tears. 

M. De Morville and his daughter listened with the 
deepest interest to those splendid verses ; Miss Mary, 
they felt, was the interpreter of genius, fully expres- 
sing its thoughts, regrets and sufferings. 

Alphonsine, thrilled by the touching tones of her 
governess, soon shared in her emotion ; her tears 
began to flow, and long before the sorrowing mother 
had taken her final leave of her noble son, the young 
girl laid her head, sobbing, in Miss Mary’s lap, and 
even the eyes of M. De Morville himself were some- 
what moistened. ^ 

The governess half shut the book, passed her hand 
through her pupil’s long brown tresses, and seemed 
lost in a half pleasing, half sad revery. The silence 
was long and profound, but all three understood 
each other without uttering a single word. 

Alphonsine, whose impressions were more fleeting, 
was the first to recover from her emotion, and point- 
ing to the time-piece on the mantel, she exclaimed : 

‘‘Why, it’s ten o’clock ! ” 

“Already! ” said M. De Morville, also much sur- 
prised. 

“And I have still a long history lesson to study 
for to-morrow ! ” said Alphonsine. 

“ I will ask of Miss Mary to excuse you, my 
child,” said her father, pressing his lips to her fore- 


ITQ THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 

head, and besides that, I have another favor to ask 
of you.” 

What is it, sir ? ” 

Oh ! Miss Mary, I have passed a delightful eve- 
ning. How happy I should be if to-morrow would 
resemble it ! ” 

‘‘There is nothing easier, sir. We shall return, 
if you desire it.” 

“It is what we all desire,” said Alphonsine joy- 
fully. 

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Miss 
Mary!” said M. De Morville. “Many, many 
thanks. ’ * 

He accompanied the two young girls to the door 
of the library with a beaming countenance ; but 
when he found himself alone, he threw himself on an 
arm chair, covering his face in his hands and mur- 
muring bitterly: 

“ My daughter, my good angel, has disappeared 1 
Her sweet innocence blesses me no longer, no longer 
am I fortified by her chastening presence 1 Now 
that she has left me, my paternal love reels before 
the furious blast of this senseless passion. Oh! I am 
now left alone, and a prey to the recollections of this 
day — of this evening ! Alone, alone ! Ah ! what 
endless woes surely await me should I ever betray 
the existence of my fatal secret ! ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


177 


CHAPTER III. 

EVERY-DAY LIFE. 

During Madame De Morville^s absence, Alphon- 
sine’s evening lessons were gone through regularly 
in her father’s library; and these new relations re- 
doubled the intimacy of these three personages of our 
story. In the presence of his daughter, hts good 
angel, as he called her, M. De Morville, exclusively 
occupied by his sacred paternal love, would have 
never dared to sully, to degrade, his holy joys by 
permitting any bad thought to intrude upon them ; 
but in his loneliness, when he had no longer to dread 
Alphonsine’s or her governess’s eyes, he surrendered 
himself up the more recklessly to his terrible passion, 
as he had kept it awhile under close restraint, and 
he now actually took a kind of bitter joy in contem- 
plating the ravages it was making in his soul. 

The governess was of too pure and elevated a na- 
ture, and she believed too implicitly in the sanctity 
of the Morville family, to have any suspicion of a 
passion that would have horrified her. Besides, no- 
thing ever betrayed its existence, either in M. De 
Morville’ s looks, words, or actions. If, in spite of 
his constraint, always most respectful, in spite of his 
continual care to weigh, as it were, every word he 
uttered, there still escaped from him an expression 
of rather an affectionate character. Miss Mary could 

9 


178 the chAteau MORVILLE: 

attribute it naturally enough to the warmth of his 
paternal gratitude. 

M. De Morville sometimes joined his daughter 
and her governess in their walks. Alphonsine, 
coming, going, running and skipping about with the 
wild gaiety of her sixteen years, often left her father 
and Miss Mary together tete-a-tete. 

One day, M. De Morville, profiting by the momen- 
tary absence of Alphonsine, said to Miss Mary, talk- 
ing of his wife : — 

When, still young, I left the army and thought 
of marrying, my only dream was of that state of ex- 
istence where two hearts, united together by the 
bonds of happiness and duty, find everything within 
themselves and seldom demand any outside amuse- 
ments. But that day-dream slipped from me almost 
with the first days of my marriage. My wife liked 
society, but it had little attractions for me ; and an- 
other cause, as you are aware. Miss Mary, the desire 
of concealing the poor state of my health, did not 
permit me to join in exciting pleasures. At the end 
of a year, I saw that I should have to renounce for- 
ever the happy existence I had promised myself ; 
still, I was too honorable a man and loved my wife 
too much to make my will her law. The only thing 
she was wrong in, was never to look at life as I looked 
at it : I made generous efforts to render my disposi- 
tion more pliable ; I was naturally quick tempered, 
very quick tempered.’’ 

‘‘Of course, being of the Botardiere blood, you 
know,” said Miss Mary, with a wicked smile. 

“ Oh ! I was not quite so impetuous as my terrible 
uncle,” said M. De Morville, trying to laugh, and 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


179 


rather surprised at not having been more successful 
in engaging the young girl’s attention ; ‘^but I had 
a kind of hot blood which my high military rank had 
not helped to correct. Still, I imposed on myself 
an unalterable mildness of demeanor ; the habit of 
command gave way to that of unwearied obedience. 
What shall I say? By the force of self restraint, I 
became at last such as you see me. Miss Mary. 
However, can it be in consequence of the violence 
done to my tastes, to my nature? I don’t know; 
but one thing is certain : whenever I cease to be un- 
der the happy influence of my daughter’s presence, I 
yield too often to fits of gloomy discouragement, and 
I dare no more speak to my wife of these moral at- 
tacks than of those physical ones to which I am also 
subject. Now you see. Miss Mary, how, with every 
reason to be happy, my life is too often an object 
of compassion.” 

The governess walked on beside her pupil’s father 
without uttering a word in reply. 

M. De Morville, uneasy at this silence, was the 
first to break it, saying in a tone of suppressed 
anxiety : 

Miss Mary, perhaps I abuse the attachment you 
have always testified for our family, by talking to 
you about these trifling troubles of mine. I should 
have rather thanked you for the happiness I enjoy 
every evening in my daughter’s society and yours. 
I would be sorry to have saddened you by such un- 
pleasant confidences, you that have so many reasons 
of your own to be saddened enough already.” 

And he stopped for a reply. 

‘‘Excuse me, sir, for my silence;” said Miss 


ISO 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


Mary, still however continuing her walk ; if I did 
not answer you, it was because I was asking myself a 
question.’’ 

What was it. Miss Mary? ” 

Supposing Madame De Morville was here at my 
right hand, as you are at my left, and was listening 
to all your confidences, sir, I just asked myself what 
would she be likely to say on the matter?” 

‘‘ I don’t think I ever deserved — that I ever shall 
deserve a reproach from Madame De Morville.” 

Just now, in speaking to me of your ‘trifling 
troubles,’ — trifling enough in truth, — excuse me for 
saying so, sir, since heaven has given you such a 
wife as Madame De Morville and such a daughter 
as Alphonsine — you were a little excited, or, rather, 
I should say, a little too. much dejected. I thought 
I detected tears in your voice. But, I cannot help 
thinking that Madame De Morville has as good 
reason to shed tears on her part — yes, perhaps, as 

bitter tears as yours ’ ” 

“ What do you mean. Miss Mary? ” 

“You have alluded to those terrible attacks that 
made your retirement from the world so extremely 
painful : now if Madame De Morville, at the period 
of the first or second attack, had insisted and in- 
sisted until she had learned the whole truth that you 
have just confided to me now, do you think that 
she would not have received the revelation of this 
melancholy mystery with surprise and pain? Would 
she not have been perfectly justified in demanding 
the reason of your silence before her marriage? 
You had concealed nothing regarding your fortune 
from her family, yet to her, to her of all the world, 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ISl 

you had not said one word regarding a life of which 
you offered her the half! ” 

^^But at that time, these attacks were only of 
rare occurrence, and had nothing alarming in them,’* 
said M. De Morville, thus turned away from the 
ideas into which he had suffered himself to be 
drawn. ‘‘Besides I wished to spare my wife every 
trouble and anxiety.’* 

“And by what right, sir, do you thus render 
Madame De Morville almost a guilty woman, though 
unknown to herself? ” 

“ A guilty woman ?’ * exclaimed M. De Morville. 

“Yes, sir, guilty I Those attentions that can 
relieve you, those distractions that can rid you of 
this discouragement, is it not from Madame De 
Morville that you have a right to demand them ? 
When at your instigation she is enjoying her share 
of the world’s amusements, do you not often, in 
spite of yourself I admit, bitterly compare those 
brilliant festivals in which she is taking part, with 
the dreadful loneliness to which you are abandoned ? 
Then when, even in spite of yourself, your affection 
for her cools, is it her fault? Oh ! don’t believe it. 
Informed of the evil that you so carefully conceal 
from her, she would have only been more tenderly 
devoted to you and more ingeniously consoling ! 
Why then do you doubt her, sir, before you have 
put her to the proof? ” 

“Miss Mary!” exclaimed M. De Morville, “I 
have never doubted her, never for one moment 1 ” 

“ Then, sir, it is not her I blame. For, in short, 
this secret, which chance has revealed to me, cannot 
chance also reveal to strangers, and then may it not 


1S2 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


become known to everybody, and be moreover bit- 
terly exaggerated by slander ? — So that when enter- 
ing these saloons, where she now appears in all the 
innocence of an untroubled conscience, her ears may 
catch the whispering around her — ‘ Her husband is 
suffering alone, and she is here ‘ Her husband is 
perhaps dying, and here she is dressing, chatting, 
laughing and thinking of nothing but amusement ! ’ 
Do you know, sir, that it is cruel to expose a woman 
and a wife to such dreadful calumnies ? ” 

‘‘ Miss Mary, you are too severe. The motive for 
my silence towards Madame De Morville ” 

Springs, no doubt, from a sentiment full of 
generosity, I am well aware, sir. But since you 

authorize me to speak in perfect sincerity ’ * 

‘‘ Oh ! do, I implore you.’’ 

I must say there is something extremely wound- 
ing towards Madame De Morville even in this very 
generosity itself. It is pretty much the same as to 
consider her inferior to her duties of mother and wife, 
when you thus deprive her of the opportunity of 
fulfilling them. To whom, my Heaven, should we 
confide our pains and our afflictions, if not to those 
that Providence has given, us to share them and to 
soothe them ? Believe me, sir, and be no longer so 
reserved towards Madame De Morville. Promise 


‘‘Why do you interrupt yourself, Miss Mary?” 

“ Because at my age and in my position, sir, I 
have no right to expect a promise from you.” 

“ Don’t hesitate at least to advise me.” 

“Well, then, I implore you, in the name of your 
affection for Madame De Morville, do her no longer 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


1S3 


the injustice of concealing from her the secret that I 
have learned by accident.” 

‘‘Miss Mary,” replied M. De Morville, in a 
feeling tone, “I pledge you my word as an honest 
man that at my first attack I shall reveal the whole 
to my wife.” 

At this moment, Alphonsine, who had taken a 
little race to the other end of the avenue, rejoined 
them. 

“Sir,” whispered Miss Mary to M. De Morville, 
pointing to his daughter, “here is another for whom 
I forgot to ask a share in your sufferings.” 

That same day, Alphonsine received a letter from 
her brother. Having read it, she laid it on the 
work-table and resumed her drawing, but she could 
not help saying with a kind of impatience : 

“What a strange fellow Gerard is becoming 1 ” 

“Alphonsine,” said Miss Mary, “when you say 
that you almost appear angry.” 

“It is true ! His letters are no longer what they 
used to be. Last year he used to tell me in such a comi- 
cal way about all the queer things they did at college, 
the tricks they played on the teachers, and even his 
own foolish and laughable shines, for he was a good 
deal of a wag, was Gerard ; but now he has become, 
in his correspondence at least, discontented and 
grum. I thought it would be a great pleasure for 
him to hear that father consented to his leaving col- 
lege ; I also told him that mother, on her next trip 
to Paris, would bring him home. This amiable bro- 
ther of mine hardly thanks me for such good news. 
But that is not all — there is something graver still. ’ * 

“ Possible, Alphonsine? Why, it’s getting serious.” 


IS If. the CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 0 

‘^Oh! don’t laugh, Miss Mary; what the nasty 
fellow writes to me is not at all a laughing matter. 
Just imagine, he teases me on those evenings we 
spend in the library ; he says, between us we bore 
poor papa to death ! ” 

^^Oh!” said Miss Mary, smiling, ‘^ you know 
that’s all pure envy.” 

'‘Yes, that is possible. But as to the sour temper 
with which I reproached him, what do you think he 
replies ? ’ ’ 

"I don’t know, I’m sure: but I should like to 
know. ’ ’ 

" He says, my dear, he is becoming a man and 
that as his judgment and his stature develop them- 
selves, all things appear to him in a different light. 
The idea ! Monsieur Gerard becoming a man ! 
What pretention ! He is hardly nineteen yet. 
Oh ! if he begins becoming a man by turning cross 
and grum, what is to become of him when he is a 
man all out ? ” 

" My dear child,” said Miss Mary, smiling at the 
petty anger of her pupil, "I’m afraid your sketch 
won’t be much the better of your impatience towards 
M. Gtord.” 

" My sketch ! Oh ! that reminds me of another 
silly joke my gentle brother has thought proper to 
make. Is it my fault if all his masters are, as he says, 
old, cross, and ugly? One would think he is jealous 
of me for having such an advantage over him. — He 
don’t believe one word of what I say about you. Miss 
Mary. In this very last letter of his, he asks me, in 
the most impertinent manner ; ' But, really and 
truly, does your Miss Mary know anything at all 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


185 


about the first principles of drawing ? * Do you un- 
derstand that ? ' * 

It is decidedly getting more and more alarming 
for my professional dignity/* said Miss Mary, laugh- 
ing merrily; ‘‘but, my dear child, why do you speak 
so much of itie in your letters to your brother ? ’ ’ 

“ But what can I write about, if not about father, 
and mother, and you. Miss Mary — in short, about 
all those that love me, and whom I love? ’* 

“ Take courage ; when M. Gerard comes here you 
can make peace with him, and I hope he shall also 
become reconciled with me.** 

“Ah ! I know a way to be revenged on him. We 
shall get up a conspiracy 1 ** 

“ Am I to be in it? ’* 

“ Certainly.** 

“ If I am to take part in it, I must know the plot.** 
“The plot shall turn on a portrait.** 

“ Whose? ** 

“Mine, Miss Mary.** 

“ For whom? ** 

“For Gtord. I shall suspend it in his room, 
without saying a word about it, and he will find it 
there the day he arrives.** 

“And who is to paint the portrait? ** 

“You, of course, my dear little Miss Mary, and 
then I shall say to Gerard : ‘ Well, sir, now do you 
think that really and truly my Miss Mary knows any- 
thing about the first principles of drawing? * I tell 
you that would be splendid revenge ! * * 

“ Excellent revenge, and worthy of your heart, 
my dear child. I see no objection to entering into 

9 "^ 


1S6 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


this conspiracy, but you must get your mother to ask 
me to paint your portrait for M. Gerard, you know.” 

‘^Oh! if that’s the only obstacle, my nice little 
Miss Mary, this horrid brother of mine shall have 
his surprise ; he shall never ask again, I promise you, 
if you know anything about the principles of draw- 
ing. Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Principles! I think I see 
your comical, confused face, as you hold the portrait 
in your hands, and gaze at it with the greatest 
admiration.” 

On Madame De Morville’s return from her visit to 
Saint Cyr, she found nothing changed in the quiet 
habits of this family life into which we have tried to 
initiate the reader. M. De Morville was, as always, 
tender and kind towards his wife. Alphonsine gave 
her mother a gentle little scolding for having pro- 
longed her absence for more than a week beyond the 
fixed day. Miss Mary had by this time fully under- 
stood the kind of maternal jealousy Madame De 
Morville was subject to ; and she contrived by her 
tact and her ingenious little pleasing ways, to get her- 
self pardoned for the wonderful progress of her pupil. 

Days and months thus passed away ; M. De 
Morville, too much a man of honor and too sensible 
to think of encouraging his mad passion, and too 
sure of himself to betray it, took advantage of 
every opportunity that he had, in presence of his 
wife and daughter, of enjoying Miss Mary’s com- 
pany, wit and talents. But when alone, almost in 
spite of himself he indulged too often in the 
painful reveries of this hopeless love, at which he 
blushed himself, but of which, fortunately, as yet 
no one entertained the slightest suspicion. 


OJ^, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


187 


The governess, divided between her ever growing 
affection for her pupil and her recollections of home 
and Captain O’Reilly, lived in this little world as 
happy as she could be when away from the dear 
ones she had left in Dublin. But it took all her 
fortitude and resignation to bear up against the 
league formed against her by the housekeeper and 
the other servants. Her sufferings, concealed from 
every eye and which shall be more particularized 
hereafter, were cruel and incessant. But too proud 
and too generous to complain. Miss Mary forced 
herself to appear happy, and continued her work of 
devotedness. Her charm acted powerfully on 
Madam.e De Morville, thus by degrees cured of her 
jealousy ; as the governess always insisted that Al- 
phonsine should pass her recreation hours in hjer 
mother’s society. It should also -be added that the 
compliments Madame De Morville received from 
her neighbors on the remarkable improvement of 
her daughter, the flattering envy excited in society 
by the possession of such a governess as Miss Mary, 
the modesty, full of tact and good taste, with which 
the latter always kept herself out of the way in order 
to show off her pupil to the best advantage, — all 
this sufflciently gratified Madame De Morville ’s 
maternal pride, and prevented her from seeing in 
the young Irish girl her beloved daughter’s rival. 
The family often paid visits to their neighbors, 
and generally once a week they had a little reunion 
of their friends at the chateau. On such occasions. 
Miss Mary usually made up some excellent pretext 
to keep apart from these amusements, to retire to 
her room and to leave Alphonsine in her mother’s 


188 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


charge, thus sparing Madame De Morville the mor- 
tification of seeing her governess surrounded with 
attentions that by right should be paid to her 
daughter. We repeat it — Miss Mary, by her wise 
judgment and unselfish disposition, had known how 
to steer clear of the rocks (the apparent ones at 
least) of her position, and to hit upon that difficult 
medium between the gentleness that attracts our love 
and the dignity that inspires our respect. 

Towards the end of August, Madame De Morville 
was to set out for Paris, pass a few days there, and 
return with her son to the chateau, where he was to 
spend his vacations. The evening before the 
departure, while Alphonsine was helping in the 
preparations, her mother said gaily : 

Can you keep a secret? 

Oh ! Mamma,- do you doubt it ? 

Keep it even from Miss Mary ? 

That is more difficult ; but, between us both, 
we should never let it escape, I warrant you. ’ ' 

Anyway, your governess must be taken into your 
confidence sooner or later, so I leave you at entire 
liberty in her regard. But, of all this, not a 
word to father. It is him we must surprise.** 
^^Then rest assured on the subject.** 

Last winter and spring, you know, I received a 
good many invitations from our friends and rela- 
tives. So I thought of giving them here a little fete 
on the very day that I return from Paris with 
Gerard. I have already made all the arrangements 
with Madame Pivolet and the gardener. It will be 
charming. Your father shall know nothing about it 
up to the very moment of the arrival of the guests.’* 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 280 

Oh ! yes indeed, mamma, it will be delight- 
ful/^ 

‘‘ We shall get Gerard up to his room as soon as 
possible; then he will see for the first time the 
splendid portrait Miss Mary has painted for you — to 
show the young slanderer that your governess really 
and truly knows a little about the pi'inciples of 
drawing y 

‘‘ Ha ! ha ! ha ! better and better ! 

But I should like you also, Alphonsine, to 
take a pretty part in the fete — one to get admired 
in/* 

‘‘I? My heaven ! admired ! Oh ! mamma, don’t 
think of such a thing ! ’ * 

On the contrary, I think a good deal of such a 
thing, and I feel already proud of the sensation you 
shall produce/* 

‘‘ I produce a sensation ! I ! Truly, my dear little 
mamma, you are only joking.** 

Not a bit ; only listen to me. At the last grand 
soiree given by Madame De Noirfeuille, her daugh- 
ter Flavie, who is not near as good a musician as you 
are, at least her governess is nothing like Miss Mary, 
played a piece on the piano that produced a grand 
effect. If you had only seen with what delight 
Madame De Noirfeuille, that happy mother, re- 
ceived every body’s congratulations on her daugh- 
ter’s talents, you could easily comprehend, my dear 
child, how much I should like to enjoy a similar 
triumph. Thanks to Miss Mary, you have already 
made extraordinary progress, and they shall never 
be tired praising my clever little girl.** 


100 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘‘But, mamma, I have never touched a piano in 
any one’s presence ! ” 

“ So much the better ! so much the better ! The 
effect will be the greater and the more unexpected. 
I think I already hear them whispering on all sides : 
‘ what talent that little Mademoiselle De Morville 
possesses ! Who would have thought it, seeing her 
so modest?’ And then renewed applause. Only 
think of the state I should be in, Alphonsine ! I’m 
afraid I should cry like a crazy woman.” 

“ My poor dear mamma, how much you love 
me! ” 

“I do love you, that’s natural enough. All 
mothers love their daughters like me, but all 
mothers have not the same reason to be proud of 
them.” 

“Alas! my dear mamma, I’m very much afraid 
you deceive yourself in expecting a triumph from 
me.” 

‘ ‘ Why so ? ” 

“ Do you want me to play the piano in pub- 
lic ? ” 

“It is my only wish.” 

“ But, mamma, I beg of you ” 

“ Alphonsine, I implore you, I request of 


“ Unfortunately, mamma, the music that I know 
is not of a nature to produce the least effect. The 
world generally don’t take much pleasure, I think, 
in the sonatas of Mozart and Beethoven.” 

“I don’t know much about music, but I am sure 
that Miss Mary has taught you so far nothing but 
tiresome, dry study pieces.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


191 


mamma, that’s all right. She don’t try to 
make me shine, she seeks only to instruct me.” 

‘‘ What is the good of so much studying, then ? ” 

Oh ! to learn, to know.” 

To know, to know, that’s all very well. — But 
people must know that you know.” 

‘^Oh, mamma, provided you and father are satis- 
fied, that’s all I want, or Miss Mary either.” 

That may be ; but I want a little more. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, I will ask Miss Mary to select me a 
piece. ’ ’ 

“ I should think that for a piece which I desire 
you might leave the selection to me.” 

“ The selection of a piece of music ? ” 

“ Certainly of a piece of music. I have as 
good a right to my taste as another, haven’t 
I?” 

“ Of course, mamma.” 

“ I was speaking to you of Flavie, Madame De 
Noirfeuille’s daughter. I heard her play a piece of 
startling effect, and quite new. It is one of Thal- 
berg’s, with variations.” 

“ Ah ! blessed heaven ! Thalberg !” cried the poor 
child, clasping her hands in terror. — “Thalberg!! 
But, mamma, don’t you know that the greater part 
of that author’s compositions are extremely difficult, 
and require a perfection of execution that I shall never 
possess ! My hands are too small and too weak for 
such exercises, which are a real feat of strength. It 
is not my fault, I’m sure. Miss Mary is no flatterer 
and what she says you may rely on. It is only quite 
lately she told me that with plenty of practice I 


102 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


might become a good, passable musician, but a great 
player never.” 

I don’t see any necessity for telling me what 
Miss Mary thinks, .or for bringing forward her 
authority to oppose mine.” 

‘‘ Mamma, excuse me. I should be sorry to make 
you angry.” 

Oh ! I’m not angry, but I can’t concebve why 
you resist me so stubbornly, Flavie De Noirfeuille, 
whose governess is far from having Miss Mary’s 
talents, has produced the grandest effect by Thal- 
berg’s piece. You can, if you like, obtain the same 
success, and still you persist in making objections. 
It is insupportable. The first thing Miss Mary 
should teach you, I think, is to obey your 
mother ! ’ ’ 

To these reproaches Alphonsine could reply only 
by her tears, and then Madame De Morville, regret- 
ting her hasty expressions, took her daughter, grown 
as she was, in her arms, and made her sit in her lap, 
embracing her affectionately. The poor child was 
soon consoled for her passing chagrin; the clouds 
cleared away from her face, and, smiling through her 
tears, she said to her mother : — 

‘^As soon as you arrive in Paris, send me what- 
ever piece you like, and I will study it for the great 
dayr 

Madame De Morville set out, but it was several 
days before the music came. It was Thalberg’s 
variations on some of the airs in Mots e in Egitto,'' 
by Rossini. Miss Mary was overwhelmed with 
affliction at the sight of this selection, which the 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE._ 


19S 


rushing deluge of notes and the rapid change of keys 
render difficult enough even to a master ; but Al- 
phonsine having related the conversation she had 
had with her mother, the governess resigned herself 
to the task of making her pupil study Moise'^ 
Madame De Morville’s journey did not last long ; 
she soon returned in company with her son 
Gerard. 


194 


THE CHA TEA U MOR VILLE; 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE FETE. 

The travellers arrived from Paris early in the 
morning, and Gerard repaired immediately to his 
father’s room, where he found Alphonsine. The 
first greetings over, the young girl, with simple 
curiosity, set herself to examine her brother, whom 
she had not seen for a year. 

‘‘Only see, father, how big he’s got,” she ex- 
claimed, trying to touch her right shoulder to his 
left, “and^hq’s letting his moustache grow too ! It 
is very pretty mdeed, but mighty scant of hair, and 
far from being what is called a forest. But, come 
over to the light near the window. Have you re- 
marked it, mamma ? — His eyes are now a dark blue. 
I certainly like them better of that shade. It is quite 
distinguished, I tell you, blue eyes and brown hair.” 

Gtord yielded himself quietly to his sister’s ex- 
amination. He was a fine young fellow of nineteen, 
of slight build, and with a smooth, pale complexion 
that blushed like a rose at the least emotion. 

The mother and son went to take a little repose 
while waiting for breakfast. It was only then that 
Gerard was to see Miss Mary, whose name he had 
not pronounced even once since his arrival ; but, in 
revenge, Alphonsine kept saying to him every mo- 
ment with a triumphant air : — 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


105 

At last you are going to see 7ny Miss Mary ! 
Wait a little! wait a little! you’ll see what you’ll 
see! ” 

And, of course, the better to see, Gerard made 
several important improvements in his toilet, rigidly 
rejecting everything that might most remotely recall 
the collegian; so when he entered the drawing-room, 
without daring to lift his eyes to see if Miss Mary 
was there, Alphonsine exclaimed with a laugh : — 

Oh ! how fine you are, Gerard ! Not a bit of 
the schoolboy about you. Really, you look like a 
young man. What a pretty cravat ! — That white 
Marseilles waistcoat with pearl buttons is really and 
truly elegant. And patent leather boots ! Bless my 
soul ! patent leather boots ! no less. Why, you’re 
perfect. However, without flattery, you look much 
better now than in your cadet uniform, kepi cap, 
your big laced shoes, and coarse cotton stockings. ’ ’ 

At these retrospective remarks, uttered in the 
liveliest tone, by his laughing sister, poor Gerard 
became trebly crimson when on raising his eyes he 
became aware that Miss Mary was seated on a chair 
hardly a yard off. He saluted her most profoundly. 

‘‘M. Gerard,” she said to him kindly, ‘‘your 
dear sister has spoken to me so often about you, 
your studies, your sports, and even your punishment 
lines, that I feel as if we were already old acquaint- 
ances. ’ ’ 

These allusions to his college life were not ex- 
tremely flattering to Gerard; accordingly, during 
the breakfast he was very distant with the governess, 
throwing an odd glance at her only whenever he 
could do so without being seen by his sister. At 


we 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


the end of the repast, Madame De Morville pro- 
nounced a word which for the moment chilled all 
the young girl’s joy for her brother’s return. 

Alphonsine,” said she, ‘‘how Moise getting 
on?” 

“Ah ! mamma,” replied her daughter with a sigh, 
“ I have been studying it every day with all my 
might and main, and to-day again I am going to 
work at it with Miss Mary. She can tell you if I’m 
doing my best. ’ ’ 

“ I give full justice to Alphonsine’s zeal and in- 
dustry,” said the governess, “but this piece ” 

“Yes, yes, I know it,” interrupted Madame De 
Morville ; “it must produce a grand effect. I insist 
on my daughter playing it, and she shall play it.” 

After breakfast, Alphonsine took her brother by 
the arm and led him aside, whispering : 

“Well, Gtord?” 

“What? ” answered Gerard, with the most inno- 
cent face in the world, “ what do you mean, Alphon- 
sine ? ’ ’ 

“About Miss Mary? ” 

“ Oh ! Miss Mary 

“ How do you like her? ” 

“Not so bad,” said the youth, trying to assume 
the most off-hand air; “no, not so very bad — for a 
school-mistress.” 

The secret having been scrupulously kept from 
M. De Morville’s ears, it was only towards the 
dinner hour, on returning from a long walk admi- 
rably planned by his wife, that he became aware, on 
seeing the numerous preparations, that there was to 
be a fete that evening in the chateau. He approved 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


197 


of Madame De Morville’s idea, though, in the state 
of mind in which he found himself, he would have 
far preferred loneliness to the bustle of society.^ 

Gerard, after having stolen into his mother’s room, 
with a terribly beating heart, in order to seize a piece 
of cosmetic from which he expected great assistance 
in giving his budding moustache and beard a deeper, 
a manlier color, had retired to his room to dress. He 
threw away five or six cravats before he succeeded in 
making a knot to his liking, and burst three pair of 
straw-colored gloves in trying to get them on, recal- 
ling, with good reason, the sinister predictions of the 
Parisian glover: — ^‘Sir, you are taking gloves that 
are by far too-small.” At last, after having walked 
a good half hour up and down the room, trying to 
make his feet feel easy in pumps new and too tight, 
he took a last glance at himself in the glass, and 
went down stairs to the drawing-room, horribly afraid 
of finding himself alone there with Miss Mary. Ac- 
cordingly, he uttered a long sigh of relief on seeing 
no one there but his father and mother. 

Alphonsine .and her governess were not long in 
making their appearance. Alphonsine wore with 
artless grace a charming dress that her mother had 
brought her from Paris. Miss Mary wore with visi- 
ble embarrassment a plain white muslin dress with 
shorter sleeves and lower neck than at all accorded 
with her correct taste. She had neither ribbon, nor 
flower nor ornament of any kind in her hair, the 
long silky tresses of which quietly draped her gentle 
face. Still Madame De Morville was painfully struck 
with jealous admiration in gazing at the young Irish 
girl, whose good looks indeed by this time should 


198 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


hardly have surprised her. But, whether it was the 
slight change of dress that rendered her beauty 
more dazzling, or that Madame De Morville looked 
on her governess with the eyes of those persons who, 
not knowing who she was, were sure to be enraptured 
with her charms, certain it is that Alphonsine’s 
mother felt a keen pang of envy. Eyeing her with 
no pleased face, she could not help saying with ill- 
concealed acerbity, in allusion to the style of dress 
which left half uncovered the young girl’s charming 
arms and shoulders : 

A high-necked dress with long sleeves would have 
been more becoming. Mademoiselle O’Connor,” 

I know it, Madame,” said the young girl 
meekly, ‘‘but this is the only evening dress I 
have.” 

To this reply, reminding her of Miss Mary’s pov- 
erty, of course Madame De Morville had no answer 
to make ; but she already began to condemn in se- 
cret her unfortunate idea of giving a party at all, at 
which her governess, who, as already mentioned, had 
managed to keep herself apart from all company, 
should undoubtedly, and for that very reason too, 
completely eclipse her daughter. 

Poor Alphonsine, absorbed in the melancholy 
thought that she was condemned to go through 
Moise, had slowly approached the piano to lay upon 
it that fatal though classic and renowned morceau. 
She had not therefore heard her mother’s uncourte- 
ous remark on Miss Mary’s toilet, and now said in 
an almost suppliant tone : 

“ Mamma, is it still understood that I am to play 
Moise ? ” And she could not suppress a deep sigh. 


ORy LIFE IN TOURAINE. XQg 

casting at the same time a look of despair at her 
governess that seemed to say: — ‘^Intercede with 
mamma for the last time to let me otf this torture.” 

The governess understood her pupil’s sufferings 
too well, and said in a low voice to Madame De 
Morville: — duty as governess and my affection 
for Alphonsine authorize me, Madame, in speaking 
to you with sincerity.” 

Well, Mademoiselle ? ” 

‘‘Well, Madame, I’m afraid that Alphonsine’s 
execution of the Moise will leave something to be 
desired.” 

“ Then, Mademoiselle,” replied Madame De Mor- 
ville curtly, “that shall be because you have not in- 
structed her sufficiently.” 

“ Alphonsine’s success, if it were possible, would 
have rendered me too happy not to make every exer- 
tion in my power to secure it,” replied the governess, 
the more surprised at Madame De Morville’ s increas- 
ing harshness, as she had always hitherto received 
from her the most unvarying kindness. “ We have 
done nothing else but practice the piece since you 
sent it from Paris.” 

“ Then, Mademoiselle, I am compelled to say you 
must have practised it very carelessly, perhaps unwil- 
lingly, because it was one of my selection.” 

“ Madame, permit me ” 

“ Mademoiselle, I will not permit any one to en- 
joy the malicious pleasure of setting my daughter in 
opposition to me.” 

“ Oh ! Madame ! ” 

“And since you speak of your duties. Mademoi- 
selle, know that the first duty of a governess is to 


^00 the chA tea U MOR VILLE : 

render herself agreeable to those who have confi- 
dence in her.’* 

With these words, Madame De Morville, seeing 
her husband and son advancing to welcome some 
guests just arrived, proceeded to join them, leaving 
Miss Mary more surprised than pained at her cutting 
words, which fortunately however had not reached 
Alphonsine’s ears. 

The salons of the chateau began to fill. All the 
neighbors of six or seven leagues around, — some of 
their old friends from Tours, Amboise, and even 
Blois, all welcomed with cordiality, well acquainted 
with each other, received at each other’s houses, 
both in Paris and in the country, and always 
meeting with new pleasure, gave this re-union a 
kind of a family look that might go some way to 
palliate Madame De Morville’ s stubborn determi- 
nation to show off her daughter’s musical talents. 

Gerard met at every step young fellows who till 
then had always looked on him rather as a boy, 
but who now, knowing him to be out of his time 
and seeing the budding down on his chin, willingly 
admitted him into their confab, not disdaining now 
and then to impart to him their remarks favorable or 
otherwise on the ladies, married or single, who 
defiled before them. Proud of his initiation, he 
was entering another room with his new friends, 
when he was stopped by a M. De Blancourt, a 
young exquisite, very much admired, even at Paris 
as well as in Touraine. The distinction of his 
manners, the ease with which he spoke to the ladies, 
the little airs they gave themselves to catch his at- 
tention, finally his great reputation for being a lady- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ^01 

killer of the deepest dye, which had come even to 
Gerard’s ears, all inspired the young man with a 
profound respect for M. De Blancourt. 

Great then was the young collegian’s delight when 
M. De Blancourt seized him familiarly by the arm, 
saying : 

Dear Gerard, who is that young lady that I see 
here for the first time ? Look, there below. Her 
hair is plain and she wears a wdiite muslin dress. 
Don’t you see her? Why, your sister is speaking to 
her this moment.” 

Gerard, rising on his toes, looked in the direction 
indicated, then, falling back on his heels, he said 
carelessly : ‘‘ Oh ! that young lady ? — She’s only my 
sister’ s governess. ’ ’ 

And he was going to move on, but his companion 
still detained him. 

‘‘What!” said De Blancourt in a tone of the 
most lively admiration. “That charming young 
creature is a governess ! A duchess could not 
have a more perfect grace or a grander air ! What 
a splendid face ! What a lovely figure 1 And that 
complexion so rosy and so pure 1 She must be 
English. It is a real portrait for a ‘ Book of 
Beauty.’ No, never in my life have I seen any- 
thing more charming and more distinguished 1 ’ ’ 
Then smiling and looking fixedly at Gerard, who 
blushed to the eyes without hardly knowing why, M. 
De Blancourt whispered him : 

“ Ah 1 your sister’s governess 1 Happy fellow ! 
But alas 1 children think more of apples and candies 
than of gold and silver. ’ ’ 

And M. De Blancourt hastened to salute a young 


THE chateau MORVILLE: 


and pretty woman just then entering the room, leav- 
ing Gerard strangely troubled and rather vexed. 

But sounds of Hush / Hush ! coming from the 
drawing-room and two or three chords struck on the 
piano announce the. arrival of the moment so much 
dreaded by Alphonsine. — Around the piano are 
grouped, at one end, some mothers always on a 
sharp look out for a chance to make the most of 
their daughters ; at the other, Alphonsine’s personal 
friends, forming a regular club, and whispering to 
her in their resolute way : 

Come ! have courage ! Don’t be afraid ! You’ll 
get on splendidly ! ” 

Beside the sufferer is Miss Mary, bound to stand 
by her pupil at this terrible and solemn moment, and 
coming in for a good share of her distress. At last 
silence is proclaimed, and Madame De Morville 
gives the signal to begin. Alphonsine casts a 
despairing look on her governess, who squeezes her 
hand to give her courage, and the variations on 
Moise commence. 

A composer must be a bachelor of the most con- 
firmed and cruel species, and consequently he must 
be completely destitute of any feeling of humanity 
towards the poor children condemned to piano 
playing by ambitious or fashionable parents, when 
he manufactures for their especial torture such 
merciless pieces as the variations on Moise. The 
illustrious Thalberg is now married to Lablache’s 
accomplished daughter and, in his beautiful villa 
near Naples, we are compelled to believe that he 
has plenty of children around him, for we under- 
stand he has latterly left off publishing such imple- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 20S 

ments of martyrdom. Alas ! who would not be 
shocked at seeing those poor little fingers stretching 
and dislocating themselves to reach an extension 
that nature never intended them to possess ? Who 
would not shudder at the sighjt of those poor arms 
working with the rapidity of the crank-rods of a loco- 
motive, of those hands crossing each other, chasing 
each other, running away from each other, running 
together again, riding on each other, throwing each 
other off, and then getting so inextricately mixed up 
that you can’t tell which is which? During this terri- 
ble gymnastic action, the poor culprit of course has 
no time to attend to the nature of the music, and 
accordingly we think we shall hardly surprise our 
readers when we inform them that poor Alphon- 
sine’s face was anything but melodious, and that no 
ear living could possibly distinguish the slightest 
trace of the melody, smothered up as it was in the 
thicket of ornaments that bristled so fearfully around 
it. 

There was another who suffered perhaps even 
more cruelly than Alphonsine — Gerard ; tenderly 
loving his sister, he loudly expressed his anger at 
the selection of the piece, saying with as much 
bitterness as embarrassment : — 

^‘That’s the way with all those governesses. To 
make us think they have talent they give their pupils 
pieces far beyond their power. My poor sister, like 
the rest, is made the victim of this foolish vanity.” 

Madame De Morville felt herself doubly hurt, both 
as the lady of the house and a mother ; her jealousy 
and irritation against Miss Mary increased in propor- 
tion to Alphonsine’ s want of success and the loud 


^0!,. the CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 

whisperings heard in all quarters on the rare beauty 
of her governess. Wherever she turned she caught 
the men throwing glances of undisguised admiration 
on the young Irish girl, so her vexation was at its 
height, and her regret for giving the party at all was 
extreme. 

However, when poor Alphonsine’s torture was 
over, some faint applause was heard, but, alas ! it 
only came from the other victims of the piano, who 
sustained each other from esprit de corps. When 
Alphonsine got up and saw them clapping their 
hands, she whispered to them with charming sim- 
plicity : — 

^‘You're applauding my deliverance, ain't you? 
You're right. Thank Heaven, it’s over ! ” 

The sweet child in truth did not experience in her 
defeat the bitter pang either of mortified vanity or 
of baffled audacity. Compelled to play, she had 
made every effort to succeed and had not succeeded. 
That was all. Besides, she had found grateful con- 
solations in these words of Miss Mary, whose sin- 
cerity she could not suspect : — 

My poor dear girl, you have played much 
better than I had ever dared to expect ! ’ ' 

Except the group of ladies collected around the 
piano, the most of the company were silent and em- 
barrassed. Gerard, feeling much annoyed, had 
quitted the room. 

Madame De Morville now found herself in a 
strange position. Not only was her maternal pride 
cruelly hurt by Alphonsine’ s failure, but she feared 
she had drawn on herself a sort of ridicule, thinking 
that her company would judge Miss Mary by her 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


pupil, and that* the famous Mademoiselle O’Connor, 
the incomparable treasure that she was fortunate 
enough to possess and of whom she spoke so often 
with pride to her friends and neighbors, should be 
only disparagingly appreciated in consequence of 
Alphonsine’s want of success. So, yielding as usual 
to her first impulse, without ever calculating the con- 
sequences, she rose up quickly, approached Miss 
Mary, and said to her in a low voice, but rather 
imperiously : — 

‘‘I hope. Mademoiselle, that you will take your 
seat at the piano, and thus show that I have not 
made in my daughter’s governess so bad a choice as 
people who judge of the master from the scholar 
might suspect.” 

‘‘Ah! Madame,” entreated Miss Mary in a sup- 
plicating tone," “don’t ask me to perform such a 
painful task.” 

“Mademoiselle O’Connor,” replied Madame De 
Morville with a loud voice and an imperious gesture, 
“ take a seat at the piano, we are all waiting.” 

“Yes, yes. Mademoiselle, we are all waiting to 
hear you,” said the group of young convicts, hoping 
to escape the dreaded punishment by sending an- 
other victim in their place. 

Alphonsine, before joining her companions, who 
made room for her among them, stooped down to 
her governess, who was still hesitating, and whis- 
pered : — 

“I implore you. Miss Mary. Make them forget 
me! ” 

The young Irish girl, though deeply wounded by 
the imperious tone with which Madame De Morville 


so 6 TI/E cha tea U MOR VILLE : 

had ordered her to go to the piano, still obeyed, 
fully decided however to avoid anything that would 
look like a contest between 'herself and her pupil. 
Far then from undertaking any piece composed for 
effect, she commenced a simple adagio by Haydn. 

M. De Morville, an entire stranger to the punish- 
ment imposed on his daughter under the name of 
Moise, and who had not been present at the perform- 
ance, entered the drawing-room this moment, and 
nobody of course spoke to him about Alphonsine’s 
failure. He could therefore abandon himself com- 
pletely to the pleasure he felt on hearing the first 
bars played by Miss Mary, a pleasure soon shared by 
all the audience. The doorway, which had been 
free enough a moment before, soon became thronged 
with listeners stretching ear and neck. Even 
Gerard, who was in a small ante-chamber, partook 
of the general impression, and the dead silence that 
suddenly prevailed permitted him to hear even the 
most delicately fingered grace notes. 

Haydn’s little piece expressing an idea that every 
body can in an instant catch, relish, and under- 
stand, its charm was immediately felt everywhere. 
People who knew nothing about music, and who 
never before beat time correctly, became astonished 
at their rhythmic instinct, and swayed their heads in 
cadence. They wondered at finding so much pleas- 
ure in so simple an affair, and they wondered still 
more when they saw that the composer had stopped 
the moment his idea was completed, not permitting 
himself to add one simple variation to the phrase. 
They did not venture, however, to applaud at once — 
many people never approve until they know the 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


m 


name of the artist whose success they hesitate to de- 
clare — but from the approving buzz which immedi- 
ately arose on all sides, there could be no doubt of 
Miss Mary’s success. 

Alphonsine, scarcely containing her joy, turned 
about to her companions, her countenance radiant 
and seeming to say : 

Oh ! that’s nothing. Wait till you hear her bye 
and bye.” 

Madame De Morville was fated that day to pass 
from one vexation to another. Miss Mary’s was no 
longer a triumph by her mere beauty alone ; her 
rare musical talent excited general enthusiasm, and 
of this enthusiasm she herself, Madame De Morville, 
had been the thoughtless cause by her imperious 
orders to Miss Mary to play. This double success 
deeply wounded her pride, but she had to bear the 
vexation in silence ; could she blame her governess 
for having executed her orders ? 

The approbation of the audience did not make 
Miss Mary more ambitious ; she commenced a series 
of three waltzes by Beethoven, each of which is only 
about four lines long. At the end of the first, 
Gerard started up exclaiming ; 

That’s delightful ! ” 

Approaching the door where M. De Morville was 
standing, he asked him: 

Father, who is at the piano ? ” 

‘^Miss Mary,” replied his father, almost without 
turning his head, for the second waltz was commen- 
cing. Everyone felt himself under the charm of an 
indefinable pleasure, and, when Miss Mary quitted 
the piano, after a concluding little flourish, the gene- 


20S CHAtEAU MORVILLEi 

ral applause broke forth unconstrained. The audi- 
ence left their seats and talked to each other with 
interest and attention on a talent so pure, so elevated, 
so fresh ; many hastened to compliment the gover- 
ness. Miss Mary was confused and almost afflicted 
at these praises. She felt how distasteful they must 
have been to Madame De Morville. Indeed that 
lady’s features were not at all radiant as her friends 
crowded round her, exclaiming in chorus : 

^‘You are right. She is a gem, your gover- 
ness is ! ” 

A real treasure ! ” 

How happy you must be to have such talents at 
your command ! ’ ’ 

You must pay her a great salary ! ” 

Miss Mary hoped she could profit by the slight 
confusion of the moment to leave the drawing-room 
and no longer trouble any one by her presence, but 
she had reckoned without her pupil. Alphonsine, as 
much delighted, more delighted with this success 
than if it had been her own, ran up to her, embraced 
her tenderly, and remained a few moments with her 
arms around her neck, and her head reclining on her 
shoulder. The dear child, completely forgetting her 
own check, thought of nothing but her beloved 
governess’s triumph. Among those surrounding and 
congratulating Miss Mary, the gentleman tliat pre- 
sented his felicitations with the greatest earnestness, 
grace, and elegance, was M. De Blancourt. 

Gtord, sharing in the general enthusiasm, was 
approaching Miss Mary with a blushing counte- 
nance, preparing beforehand some little complimen- 
tary phrase to address her with, when he saw M. De 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


£09 


Blancourt talking to the young lady, who was reply- 
ing to him with modesty. At the sight he felt a 
little shock, and began to think a good deal less of 
the ease and address of the elegant young man, and 
even to set him down in his mind as little better 
than a conceited fop. But he stopped short to con- 
sider — rather sadly it must be owned — ^whether he 
was possessed of the audacity to venture on his flat 
and awkward compliments to Miss Mary while her 
ears still rang with Dc Blancourt’ s spirituel and pol- 
ished phrases, or if it would not be just as bad to in- 
cur the danger of passing in her mind for a coarse 
country boor in case he maintained a silence that 
could only be affected. He was still a prey to this 
perplexity, when a servant, to whom Alphonsine had 
said a few words, approached and begged him, on 
the part of Mademoiselle, to have the kindness to go 
fetch her an article which she had forgotten in his 
room, on the mantelpiece, opposite the clock. 

Gerard, almost happy at the opportunity thus af- 
forded of leaving his decision still an open question, 
started off immediately. 

Among all Miss Mary’s hearers, none had been 
more completely subjugated than M. De Morville. 
Not only had he never before heard the little 
masterpieces just performed, but he was also under 
the influence of that electric emotion which is 
evolved from a general enthusiasm, and doubles the 
force of our sensations. Miss Mary’s success he 
regarded as a kind of an excuse for his senseless and 
secret passion. Accordingly, when Alphonsine 
beckoned to him from the other end of the room, 
he obeyed the summons with pleasure, and hastened 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 


210 

to pay the governess his tribute of approbation. 
He was then turning away, when Alphonsine re- 
tained him with a roguish smile, saying : — 

^‘Father, wait here a moment, please.’* 

He had not long to wait : some one made his 
way through the crowd towards the group at the 
piano. It was Gerard, holding a little picture in his 
hand. 

Oh ! father,” he exclaimed, as he drew near 
them, ‘‘ ah ! sister, what a charming surprise ! ” 

‘‘What charming surprise?” asked M. De Mor- 
ville. 

“Oh! yes, pretend you know nothing about it,” 
said Gerard to his father, showing him the pic- 
ture. 

“ Alphonsine’ s portrait 1 ” exclaimed M. De 
Morville. 

“ Yes, indeed, her portrait, and magnificently 
executed too I Look, it is really Alphonsine ; she 
lives and breathes I ’ ’ 

“ ’Tis true,” said M. De Morville, examining the 
work. Then he exclaimed — “ I know only one 
person with talent enough to paint this picture.” 

“Who is it?” asked Gtord, while the portrait 
passed from hand to hand in a group formed around 
the governess. “Yes, father, tell us, if you please, 
who is the painter of this portrait ? ” 

Alphonsine, taking her governess by the hand, 
made her brother a little mock courtesy, saying with 
a laugh : 

“ Here is the painter of my portrait, brother.” 

“Miss Mary 1 ” cried Gerard. 

“Yes, sir,” said Alphonsine, and she added in a 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 211 

whisper loud enough for the young Irish girl to 
hear her : 

‘^Now, brother, I hope you shall never write 
again : ^ But really and truly does your Miss Mary 
know anything at all about the first principles of 
drawing ? ’ Ha ! ha ! ha ! How do you feel, Mr. 
Principles?/’ and her joyous laughter so innocent 
and natural was re-echoed by the delighted com- 
pany. 

Even the governess smiled at her pupil’s pretty 
malice, and Gerard, seeing himself betrayed by his 
sister, blushed up to the ears with mortification, and 
could hardly stammer out a few words, half praise, 
half excuse. He was even a little impatient in 
almost snatching the portrait from the hands of M. 
De Blancourt, who, in returning it, whispered him : 

By Jove, you are a happy mortal ! That splendid 
creature paints you in secret your sister’s portrait, 
and it is almost your own, you’re so like her. Ah ! 
young man ! young man ! Remember the proverb : 

Si La Jeunesse savait ” Then, interrupting 

himself, he added But, alas! as I said before, 
children care more for candies and apples than they 
do for gold and silver.” 

At this second allusion to his youth and inno- 
cence, Gerard drew back his head quite loftily, 
remembering, very apropos, that he had been taking 
fencing lessons for the last two years from the 
illustrious Bertrand, at that great master’s private resi- 
dence, number 30 Orleans Road, Petit Montrouge. 
He was casting about for a reply which should be at 
once light and cutting, but before he could find one, 
the young exquisite had turned his back to him, and 


^12 THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

he heard him say to Miss Mary : — Mademoiselle, 
when one is as excellent a musician as Madame 
Malibran, it is hardly fair to paint as well as 
Madame De Mirbel, the first portrait painter in 
Paris. On my honor, that’s bearing off the palm 
in everything, and inflicting too great a humiliation 
on ladies who have nothing to boast of but the most 
exquisite beauty.” 

Good Heavens ! how happy the puppy is in 
finding such pretty things to say right off!” 
thought poor Gerard whilst listening to the lady- 
killer’s conceited twaddle. ‘‘ Miss Mary must think 
me exceedingly stupid. I have not yet been able to 
say one word on her talents, nor even to thank her 
for my sister’s beautiful portrait.” 

The concert was succeeded by a ball, a splendid 
orchestra having come from Tours. A great number 
of the gentlemen had promised themselves the 
pleasure of dancing with Miss Mary, but their 
disappointment was great, for she could not be 
found. 

'^Madame,” she had said to Madame De Mor- 
ville, drawing her aside a moment, ‘‘ allow me to 
retire. I am tired, and don’t feel quite well. The 
ball will, no doubt, last till very late. Have the 
kindness not to insist on my presence.” 

‘‘But, really. Miss Mary, don’t you like to wait 
for the ball ? ’ ’ asked Madame De Morville, hardly 
able to contain her joyful surprise. Then, assuming 
an affectionate tone, which contrasted strangely 
with the harsh words she had addressed to the young 
girl only a short time before : — “ Certainly not, my 
dear Miss Mary ; much as I should like to see you at 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE: 2 IS 

our ball, I could never dream of insisting on your 
presence when you don’t feel well enough to enjoy 
it. Only since you are good enough to ask my 
consent, permit me to add a condition before grant- 
ing it.” 

‘‘What condition, Madame?” 

“You’ll forget, you’ll pardon me, won’t you, that 
last attack of my ill temper, which I can’t control, 
and which must have pained you deeply? Poor 
Alphonsine’s want of success may, perhaps, excuse 
me a little in your eyes.” 

“Oh, Madame ” 

“Of this want of success I am the cause myself, 
my dear Miss Mary : I readily acknowledge it. 
Like a regular ignoramus, I had selected that un- 
fortunate Moise, and with all the stubbornness of 
ignorance I had insisted on its performance by my 
poor child. Your warnings, of course, have been 
fully realized. Alphonsine, in spite of your excel- 
lent lessons, in spite of her good will, failed, and no 
wonder, in the performance of a task far beyond her 
ability. Still I had neither the good sense nor the 
good taste to acknowledge my ridiculous selection, 
and I even so far forgot myself as to address you 
those harsh words, for which I am now both 
ashamed and sorry. I beg your pardon, my dear 
Miss Mary,” she added, taking her hand. 

“ Oh ! Madame, such an apology is altogether un- 
necessary. I have nothing to pardon you. I only 
remember what you must have suffered at not seeing 
dear Alphonsine come up to your reasonable expecta- 
tions, even although in this case it was not at all her 
fault.” 


THE CHA tea U MOR VIL L E ; 


^‘Miss Mary! Miss Mary!” cried Alphonsine, 
joyfully alighting on her mother and her governess. 
“What are you hiding yourself for? Every one 
is asking for you and looking for you. I have ever 
so many invitations for you for the first quadrille 
and the first waltz. The ball might last two days 
before you could get through half your partners — in 
expectation.* 

“My dear child/* said Miss Mary, “I’m a little 
selfish, you know, and this time it is you who must 
become the victim of this dancing mania. I never 
liked balls, and your mother has just had the kind- 
ness to permit me to retire to my room.” 

“What ! Miss Mary, you won’t dance even a few 
quadrilles? ** 

“ Not one.” 

“ Oh, yes, at least one. I hope you’ll not refuse 
it. Miss Mary. Poor Gerard is too much ashamed 
to ask you, he told me so, and wants me to engage 
you for him.” 

“Well then, my dear girl, I promise you I shall 
dance just as many quadrilles with M. Gerard as ever 
he likes.” 

“ Oh ! thank you ! thank you, dear little Miss 
Mary” cried the young girl, whilst her mother 
looked on the governess with a surprised and 
troubled eye. “I’ll just go and give my brother 
the good news. Won’t he be happy, poor Ge- 
rard ! ” 

“Wait a moment, Alphonsine,” said Miss Mary, 
taking her pupil’s hand. “I promise quadrilles, 
mind, but not to-night ; to-morrow, whenever you 
like, when we are among ourselves. Now then. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


^15 


good night, my dear child, I hope you’ll enjoy 
yourself.” 

And she disappeared in spite of all her pupil’s 
entreaties. The young Irish girl, with her usual 
shrewdness, had divined Madame De Morville’s 
maternal uneasiness regarding her appearing at the 
ball, and thereby perhaps throwing Alphonsine into 
the shade. Accordingly, when she signified her 
intention of retiring, Madame De Morville re- 
covered from her apprehensions, and yielding to her 
real good nature, had expressed her sincere regret for 
having allowed herself to be carried away as usual 
by her impulse and irritability. 

The ball continued till daybreak. Alphonsine 
took her part in it with all the gayety of her age. 
Gtord did not dance. He passed the greater part 
of the night walking in the park. At sunrise, he 
saw the last carriage disappear. 

‘‘At last ! ” said he, with a sigh of relief. — “ All 
are gone ! I only hope that fellow, De Blancourt, 
will never show his face here again. I really do 
detest that man, though I don’t know why.” 


21G 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


CHAPTER V. 

A NEW PUPIL. 

The fete given at the Chateau Morville had been 
attended with consequences so little agreeable to 
some of the members of the family that it was with 
real pleasure they returned once more to the quiet 
routine of domestic life. 

One morning, a few days after the ball, M. De 
Morville, in presence of his wife, daughter, son, and 
Miss Mary, said to Madame De Morville : 

‘‘ Before I called Gerard home, to keep him with 
us two years previous to sending him to Paris to study 
law, I had decided how he was to spend his time 
here. He must complete his education, and I will 
help him as well as I can. If he studied alone he 
might soon become tired of it. We shall therefore 
work together. Whatever I may have forgotten I 
shall rub up again. His progress shall thus be dou- 
bly dear to me, since it is to be partly my own work. 
Gerard has agreed to my arrangements, and we ex- 
pect to derive as much pleasure as profit from our 
joint labors.’^ 

Madame De Morville and Alphonsine heartily ap- 
proved of this plan, securing them as it did for a 
long time the presence of a son and a brother ; and 
M. De Morville resumed : — 

‘‘ But my powers are not quite sufficient for the 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


2n 


task. I can, to be sure, guide Gtord in his classics ; 
I can even help him out in mathematics and physical 
science, but of drawing I have never studied anything 
more than linear perspective. Now Gerard has a 
decided talent or taste for painting. You see then. 
Miss Mary,” continued M. De Morville, directly ad- 
dressing the governess, ‘‘we cannot get on without 
your assistance. Will you have the kindness to allow 
Gerard to be present at his sister’s lessons and to pro- 
fit by your excellent instructions? This would only 
be the least of the services for which we are and always 
shall be so much obliged to you ; but it would add, 
if possible, much to our gratitude.” 

Miss Mary signified her assent by an affirmative 
nod. But Alphonsine, delighted at having in her 
brother at once a rival and a companion, further 
added : 

“ That is not all. There is an article still wanting 
to the treaty, signed, sealed and delivered between 
father and son.” 

“ What article ? ” 

“ Here it is : M. Gerard shall assist likewise at 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine’ s singing lessons, and 
shall always hold himself in readiness to place at 
her disposal, either in accompaniments or in singing 
duets or trios, that barytone voice which he has had 
the happiness to be in possession of for some time 
past.” 

It is hardly necessary to say that Miss Mary, with 
her usual kindness, showed herself quite willing to 
comply with her pupil’s request. 

The projected plans were punctually followed out. 
They were very successful, and the family lived in 


^ 18 the CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

perfect harmony. Madame De Morville seemed to 
have completely got over her attacks of jealousy. 
More and more fully appreciating the governess’s 
sound understanding and good sense, she had even 
asked her to do something towards curing Gerard 
of a temper too often gloomy and silent, entreating 
her to make full use of the power that she was evi- 
dently gaining over him every day. 

Nobody, in fact, could be more attentive, more 
earnest, more docile, than Gerard showed himself 
towards Miss Mary. His progress in drawing and 
music had been as rapid and as extraordinary as his 
sister’s. 

The fine arts,” he said, ^‘had really more attrac- 
tion for him than his literary and scientific studies 
with his father.” 

However, whenever Miss Mary, on their walks to- 
gether, — for he shared in all their recreations, — 
pointed out to him that it was his duty by renewed 
efforts to testify his gratitude for the pains his father 
took in his education, Gerard promised her a remark- 
able week of classical studies ; and he kept his word 
too, but it was always on condition that either the 
drawing lesson should be lengthened, or that she 
should teach him a solo, or some short piece of 
music for one performer. 

Among the changes wrought in his character by 
this silent influence, the family had remarked with- 
out uneasiness, with pleasure even, that, instead of 
the rough, boisterous, impulsive fellow he had been, 
he was becoming every day gentler and more 
thoughtful. 

Indeed he had gone so far as to write poetry, but 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


2i0 


in secret, the young author admitting only Miss 
Mary into his confidence. It was a bucolic dialogue 
in Virgil’s style, less pastoral than his model but 
more amatory. Miss Mary refused to criticise the 
piece, referring him to his father, whose taste in 
such matters was unquestioned. Gerard never told 
the governess his father’s opinion on this his first 
attempt, and that put an end to eclogues. However, 
the young poet wrote a song for which he also com- 
posed the music. Miss Mary, at his request, sang 
only the melody, without minding the words, and 
corrected with much care his mistakes in harmony. 
Gerard was still more unfortunate in his first sketch 
from nature. One day at the drawing-lesson, Miss 
Mary thought she caught Gerard’s eye oftener fixed 
on herself than on the chalk cast standing on the 
table, which he pretended to be drawing with the 
greatest care. It chanced that after a while, as she 
was returning him his portfolio, having made some 
correction in his drawing, the portfolio fell off the 
table and all the papers it contained were scattered 
over the floor. Alphonsine hastily commenced pick- 
ing them up before Gerard could leave his place. 
Seeing her look at one in particular with much atten- 
tion, he tried to snatch it from her, but she was too 
quick for him, and cried out with a joyous laugh : — 
Oh ! Miss Mary, your portrait ! ” 

‘‘ Say, Alphonsine, give me back that paper at 
once,” cried Gerard, blushing to the ears. ^^You 
are intolerable ! ’ ’ 

His demand came too late : the sketch was already 
under the eyes of the governess, who insisted on her 
right to know if her pupil had done her credit. 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


There is some resemblance — ^but it is not over 
flattering/’ said Alphonsine, looking over the gover- 
ness’s shoulder, whilst Gerard, overwhelmed with 
confusion, returned to his seat. 

The general outline is pretty good,” said Miss 
Mary, smiling, ‘‘but the details are not sufficiently 
worked up.” 

So saying, she commenced to touch it up with her 
pencil as if to bring out more strongly the lines and 
features of the countenance. At the first stroke 
Alphonsine protested, but Miss Mary asked, with a 
merry twinkle in her eye : 

“ Won’t you allow me, dear Alphonsine, to make 
corrections, to which I have a double right, both as 
model and drawing-teacher ? ’ ’ 

While she thus spoke, the head and indeed the 
whole portrait had undergone a rapid transformation 
under her easy pencil. Alphonsine put her hand to 
her mouth to keep in the laughter; her brother, 
silent and dejected, did not dare to raise his eyes. 
The metamorphosis was complete. 

“What a perfect resemblance!” exclaimed Al- 
phonsine. “Why, it’s absolutely wonderful 1 ” 

And seizing the paper, she put it under her bro- 
ther’s eyes, crying out : — 

“It’s Pi volet 1 a real Pi volet ! a superb Pi volet ! 
like as life ! Just see, how majestic she is I She 
looks as if she were contriving some new flight of 
fancy. It is perfect I ’ ’ 

Then snatching up the paper, from which her 
brother had turned away his eyes with a painful con- 
fusion, she ran off* out of the room. 

The lesson being over. Miss Mary began arrang- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S21 


ing the portfolios and the drawing materials, when, 
astonished at Gerard’s silence and stillness, she turned 
round to look at him. The poor culprit had not 
quitted his place j big tears were coursing each other 
down his cheeks; the wretched youth seemed so 
humiliated and desolate that she immediately re- 
gretted the innocent malice she had allowed herself, 
and kindly giving him her hand, said : 

‘‘Monsieur Gerard, let us make peace. I promise 
to make up for my wicked trick, by commencing 
to-morrow a portrait of your mother, which I shall 
present you with to make a pair with Alphonsine’s. 
Perhaps for this reward, you will pardon me for 
having for a moment assumed the features of Madame 
Pivolet.” 

“Ah! Miss Mary,*’ cried Gerard, seizing the 
hand so kindly tendered to him ; “Ah 1 Miss Mary, 
how good this is of you I If you knew — that sketch 
— I took it almost in spite of myself.” 

“How, Monsieur Gerard!” replied the young 
girl, laughing, “ you took my portrait in spite of 
yourself? That, I acknowledge, extenuates your 
crime a little. Therefore,” she added, assuming an 
extremely serious air, “ as you are generally a pretty 
good boy, I shall not give you a mark this time. ’ * 

So saying, she quitted the study-room, leaving 
Gerard alone. 

“Alas!” he cried in despair, “she will never 
look on me but as a schoolboy ! Sweet Heaven ! I 
wish I was dead ! ” 

In the meantime, Alphonsine, running off with 
the sketch, soon joined the housekeeper in the 
laundry. 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘‘Nurse/* said she, “behold and admire. — Now, 
I hope you are satisfied.’* 

“Is it you that did that, really. Mademoiselle 
Alphonsine? ** said the housekeeper, complacently 
smiling at her picture. “ People are bad judges of 
themselves, but it seems to me to be very like. ’ * 

“You give me more talent than I possess, nurse.” 

“ Then it must be M. Gerard that did it ? ** asked 
the housekeeper. 

“Yes, the ground-work is his, to be sure,** said 
Alphonsine, “but the cunning hand that has given 
life and resemblance to this magnificent portrait is 
none other than Miss Mary’s.” 

“Is it possible ? Does she condescend to draw 
the picture of a poor creature like me ? * * whined the 
housekeeper with pretended pleasure. “ She has a 
right good heart, and sooner or later good actions 
meet their reward. — In short, that’s enough ! have 
patience. They that live shall see ! * * 

“What do you mean, nurse? What shall they 
see ? That has become a very favorite expression 
of yours lately.” 

“Mademoiselle, I can say no more. People here 
are capable of regarding me as no better than a 
fortune-teller. Do you remember. Mademoiselle, 
how your father scolded me for saying that the 
doctors could not cure the old shepherd’s wife. 
Mammy Chenot ? ” 

“Oh, yes, I remember,” said the young girl, 
laughing, “somebody had bewitched her, wasn’t 
it?” 

“ Yes, Mademoiselle, and somebody did it so 
terribly, too, that what I predicted has come to pass. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


The doctors have done no good. Mammy Chenot 
can hardly move in her bed. * * 

For a very good reason, no doubt ; the cure 
must be a slow one in such a case. ’ * 

‘‘Oh! yes, of course! Why not! It’s all 
plain ! ” 

“ So you persist, my poor Pivolet, in saying she 
is bewitched ? Are you not ashamed, at your age, 
to believe in such nonsense ? ’ ’ 

“At my age people begin to know something.” 

- “But, you crazy woman, what do you mean by 
being bewitched ? And who do you think bewitched 
her?” 

“Who?” 

“Yes.” 

“You ask me who has bewitched Mammy ChS- 
not?” 

“Yes, tell me.” 

“Well, it is a woman at once wicked and un- 
lucky, as all are who bewitch people in this poor 
world. This makes you laugh ! ” 

“ Yes, indeed, heartily ! Ha! ha! ha!” 

“ Well, I understand, myself — That’s enough. 
They that live shall see.” 

“ Why Pivolet, I hardly know you any more. 
You are become terribly wise and reserved all at 
once,” replied the young girl, still laughing. “You 
are a regular miser now in your imagination instead 
of the lavish, generous, prodigal creature you used 
to be. You never treat us now to any of those soar- 
ing fancies that formerly delighted us so. Indeed, 
you have lately been as silent as a conspirator.” 

“Patience, Mademoiselle: they that live shall 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


see. I shall take good care of this picture of Miss 
Mary; it will often make me think of her,’* added 
the housekeeper, with a strange smile ; ‘‘it will pre- 
vent me from forgetting her. I’ll just go and fasten 
her up to the wall with four pins.” 

“ What ! ” laughed Alphonsine, “ you’re going to 
fasten Miss Mary up to the wall with only four 
pins ! ’ ’ 

“You’re right. Mademoiselle — four pins are not 
enough ; I should have a hundred, I should have a 
thousand, and drive them in up to the head ! ” 

“Better and better!” screamed Alphonsine, at 
what she considered the housekeeper’s usual ex- 
aggeration. “I see that you are still the same old 
Pi volet. ’ ’ 

“They that live shall see,” muttered the house- 
keeper, ominously shaking her head. 

The arrival of Miss Mary, who had been searching 
for her pupil, interrupted the conversation, and the 
housekeeper, seeing the young ladies depart, went 
on muttering to herself, in a bitterly angry tone : — 

“Yes, my Belle Anglalse, my fine Englishwoman, 
it is not only your picture that I pierce with pins, 
but yourself! You are too proud to appear to feel 
those pin thrusts, and far too proud to complain of 
them, and all that fits me like a glove. First, I have 
forced you to wait on yourself, by training Juliette 
so as to render her services intolerable — one pin ! 
You like to take your cup of tea in the morning : 
well, sometimes I leave no sugar in the sugar bowl, 
sometimes I drop bits of dirt in your tea caddy — two 
pins ! The sheets I give you I manage to render 
very moist and to give them a bad smell by ironing 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


them the night before with a sponge slightly steeped 
in dishwater another pin ! 

‘‘James is ordered to black your slippers; he 
brings them to me now and then, when they are 
new, and I make a little cut near the sole with a 
sharp piece of flint ; this imitates the gash made by 
a rough stone, and as you are too proud to wear 
patched shoes, I ruin you in leather, my Belle Afi- 
glaise, seeing you are obliged to clothe yourself out 
of your salary. You got no less than three new pair 
of slippers last month — more pins ! more pins ! 

“You are not overstocked with any kind of 
clothes. You have so few under garments that, with 
all your airs of a grand duchess, you have to give 
out your washing every week. Now, I have man- 
aged so well with Marianne, the washerwoman, 
that she puts bleaching liquid enough in the wash to 
make your linen as tender as paper, after which she 
very prettily stretches it on a thorn-hedge to dry it : 
so that when you get it back it looks like lace-work I 
Another pin ! Accordingly last week you were 
obliged to purchase the materials of a dozen che- 
mises, and, to save the money, you undertook to 
cut them out and make them yourself in the night 
time. I know that by the candles : so I just told 
Jean to forget putting candles in your candlesticks 
for three or four days. That must have vexed you — 
another pin ! The day before yesterday you got 
some at last ; but we had taken care to steep the 
wicks in water before you came to your room. You 
did not do much work that night — another pin ! 

“And even at table I attend to you, thanks to my 
friend, Julien the butler. From him you get only 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


the worst bits, and of the meats too that you don' t 
like, and he carefully forgets helping you to the 
dishes that you do like. The plum pudding, for 
example, your national dish, which master and 
mistress have been mean enough to order the cook 
to make on your account — it is not once in four 
times that you get a morsel of it. And when by 
chance somebody notices that you are not helped, 
and says : — ‘ How, Miss Mary, you are not trying 
the pudding ? ' you, rather than appear to be forgot- 
ten, answer with your silly pride : — ‘ Thank you, I 
can take no more,^ and you dying for a taste all the 
time ! More pins ! plenty of pins! — 

‘^That’s what comes from acting princess with 
the servants, and insulting them by offering them as 
'presents what one should be ashamed to offer to a 
beggar as alms ! Hadn’t you the impudence to give 
them five francs a piece for a New Year’s gift? 
whilst that simpleton of a Lagrange always gave 
them ten, and never assumed any airs. Though 
that did not prevent us from sticking a pin in her 
too now and then, for we don’t like these gover- 
nesses, that are neither fish nor flesh, neither masters 
nor servants, too high for the kitchen and too low 
for the parlor, and still despising us far more than 
our mistress does. 

But what Lagrange suffered is roses to what you 
suffer, and what you suffer now is roses to what is in 
store for you. But the time is not yet come ; I know 
what I know ; I have a good eye and a good ear ; 
nothing escapes me. Patience 1 the thing is not yet 
ripe, and I don’t want to get myself shipped off too 
soon — but it’s all right I They that live shall see ! ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 221 

Madame Pivolet, in this retrospective glance, was 
guilty of no exaggeration. 

Ever since she had put her foot in the Chateau 
Morville, Miss Mary had been harassed by these 
thousand little vexations, of which however she had 
never complained, as much through a sentiment of 
dignity as through motives of compassion for those 
servants, whom one word from her would drive out 
of the house forever. The only persecutions that 
had painfully affected her were those which obliged 
her to incur continual expense ; for in order to re- 
place the articles maliciously injured or lost, she was 
of course obliged to take from her salary the sums 
that she had religiously intended for the relief of her 
family. Her heart bled to think that these unneces- 
sary expenses seriously diminished the already insuf- 
ficient monthly allowance that she sent her father. 
Besides, for fear of grieving them on her account, 
she had never said a word either to Henry O’Reilly 
or her family, concerning the secret but cruel hostili- 
ties with which she was continually persecuted by 
the servants. Often, very often, awake at night, had 
she shed bitter, burning tears, but in the presence 
of Monsieur and Madame De Morville, or of their 
daughter, her face was always smiling and contented. 

Thus was accomplished the first part of Henry 
O’Reilly’s predictions. 

The future was to decide if he had not also foretold 
other cruel trials that awaited the poor young gover- 
ness. 


228 


THE CHATEAU MORVILLEi 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SUITOR. 

Towards the beginning of October, about two 
months after the fete at the Chateau Morville, there 
was to be a grand hunting party at Madame De 
Noirfeuille’s, to be succeeded by a ball. The De 
Morvilles had been all invited, including, of course, 
Miss Mary, that pearl of governesses, that charming 
treasure which every family in the country around 
was dying to possess. 

Miss Mary did not accept this invitation for two 
reasons. First, she did not like the idea of exciting 
again the maternal jealousy of Madame De Morville, 
who had shown herself so painfully hurt at a success 
actually forced on her; and then her health had 
latterly begun to give away. However loftily she 
pretended to disdain the mean tricks continually 
practiced upon her, and however great was her self- 
command, these thousand pin-thrusts, as the house- 
keeper called them, ended by becoming exceedingly 
painful to the poor foreigner. Her homesickness, 
too, had become stronger than ever. She had now 
been more than a year separated from her family, 
which she had never before quitted even for one 
day, and her desire to see them became more 
intense, and her dreams about them more troubled. 
In fact, she began to labor under the impression 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S29 


that she should never see them again. Then, 
though she could not account for it, she felt as if 
the atmosphere was getting thicker and more 
oppressive around her every day. She felt jaded, 
dismal. Her instinct told her that her position in 
the house was becoming a false one. Not that M. 
De Morville had ever addressed her a syllable that 
was not perfectly respectful and courteous, not that she 
ever had as yet the least reason to suspect the exist- 
ence of that senseless passion which he concealed 
with so much jealousy and circumspection. — But more 
clear-sighted with regard to Gerard, she had 
noticed, at first indeed without alarm, almost with 
pleasure, the beneficial . influence she exercised over 
him j for until lately she had been able to turn 
this influence to very good account. At first, to 
merit her approbation, Gerard had made himself 
perfect in his studies, and then he had by degrees 
trained l^mself in those elegant and urbane man- 
ners, those refinements of thought, expression and 
action that never abandon a man, once that he 
learns them in his youth. Still, without exactly 
believing that the young man had fallen in love 
with her, the governess began to experience much 
embarrassment in her intercourse with him, and she 
saw clearly that she could no longer treat him as a 
boy. In a word, but for the imperious necessity she 
was under of keeping her situation for the sake of 
her family, she would have quitted the house at 
once, even with all her strong love for Alphonsine. 
This uneasiness, these vague but painful fears, joined 
to the other causes we have enumerated, ended by 
injuring the young girl’s health. Still, she courage- 


^so CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 

ously kept her sufferings a secret. She only- 
acknowledged a slight indisposition, which was, 
however, a sufficient excuse for her not to accept 
Madame De Noirfeuille’s invitation. 

M. De Morville, on his side, alleged the 
regularity of his habits, which was so necessary for 
his delicate condition ; besides, he had left off 
hunting and shooting ever so long. As for Gerard, 
being only a beginner, he preferred, he said, instead 
of losing glory and pleasure among a crowd of 
first-rate shots at Madame De Noirfeuille’s, to hunt 
on his father’s grounds in company with the game- 
keeper — being thus certain of the double advantage 
of avoiding ridicule in case of failure, and of enjoy- 
ing the skill and experience of a veteran huntsman. 
Such, at least, was Gerard’s excuse for not accom- 
panying his mother and sister. 

It was agreed, then, that Madame De Morville 
and her daughter should proceed alone to St. Cyr, 
and that the rest of the family were to remain at the 
chateau for the ten days during which the celebra- 
tion was to last. We shall soon see how this hunt 
was to be made the occasion of a certain meeting 
that had been planned long since by the parents of 
Alphonsine. 

This young lady was now to make her debut in 
society. Consequently, her head could think of 
nothing else; she asked her mother’s opinion on 
this, Miss Mary’s on that, and for a fortnight before 
the great day every moment was spent in prepara- 
tion. 

One thing, however, considerably damped her joy : 
Miss Mary was evidently suffering. Her loss of color 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 

and her increasing weakness, which she could not con- 
ceal in spite of all her courage, alarmed the whole 
family. But she insisted that it was nothing but a 
little passing indisposition, adding that Alphonsine’s 
absence would give her ten day’s holiday, and 
should restore her health completely. 

The day of departure came at last ; the pupil em- 
braced her governess affectionately, and started with 
her mother. From that moment Miss Mary never 
left her chamber. Every morning, and several times 
every day, M. De Morville sent to inquire after her 
health, and although she had refused repeatedly to 
have anything to do with the doctor, she consented 
at last to receive him. . 

‘‘Miss Mary, without being seriously in danger,” 
said the doctor, “ has still a very decided fever. 
This fever is rather alarming, especially as a symp- 
tom, many dangerous disorders commencing gener- 
ally with something like it. But if it ceases, all 
danger will be over. ’ ’ 

Gerard, hearing from the governess only through 
his father, took advantage of such pretexts for ab- 
sence as were furnished by his pretended love for 
hunting and fowling. He left the house early in the 
morning and did not return till towards evening, 
never desiring to be accompanied by any one ; his 
pouch too was always empty, his skill being about 
equal, as he said, to his luck. The dinner hour 
passed silently and sadly between the father and son. 
Both, pensive, absent-minded, and pre-occupied, 
seemed afraid of asking each other the cause of this 
pre-occupation, which, however, could not have 
escaped each other’s notice. The doctor’s report 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


on Miss Mary’s state of health was the single staple 
of their conversation. When the meal was over, 
Gerard declared himself exhausted with fatigue, and 
M. De Morville retired to his room. 

Thus the days passed away. Miss Mary began to 
give the doctor serious uneasiness ; he spoke of the 
possibility of typhoid fever. She had written from 
her bed to tell M. De Morville not to say anything 
to his wife and daughter of the gravity of her indis- 
position, as she was afraid of alarming Alphonsine 
and thus spoiling her amusements. M. De Morville 
complied with her request. Besides, in such circum- 
stances, the presence of his wife and daughter should 
have embarrassed him. 

From time to time, Alphonsine wrote to her bro- 
ther, and gave him an enthusiastic account of all the 
pleasures she was participating in, describing to him 
moreover many of the new faces that she saw at 
Madame De Noirfeuille’s. On this subject, she 
wrote to him thus in one of her last letters : — 

Among the guests at St. Cyr, there is one in par- 
ticular that mother is greatly taken with : she had 
known him already by reputation. — This guest is a 
gentleffian. What has perhaps made me agree with 
mamma in looking favorably on the gentleman, is my 
having heard that he was an old school-fellow of 
yours. — He is however five or six years older than 
you, so that you must have been among the little fel- 
lows when he was among the big fellows. Now don’t 
imagine for a moment that I am going to tell you his 
name. I am just in the humor to be mysterious, even 
regarding this stranger, who, however, won’t be long 
a stranger to you, for mother has invited him, as soon 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


as he gets through his visit to St. Cyr, to come and 
spend a few days with you, to renew old acquaint- 
ance. We had been told that nearly all last year he 
had been subject to a gloomy melancholy ; but very 
little of that appears to be left now, and but for a 
little pensiveness, which contrasts very well with the 
noisy merriment of the others, and which does not at 
all displease me, it is impossible to show oneself more 
amiable or agreeable than this young gentleman. So 
I think mamma’s idea in inviting him to pass some 
time with us was a very good one. Father will be in- 
formed of this invitation by the present post ; but 
you must not ask any names ; he has received orders 
to tell you nothing, and to keep two other secrets 
besides. 

‘^Good bye. I know you 2xt dying oi curiosity, 
but that will only make you wish Us back again. In 
my letter to Miss Mary I think I forgot to mention 
that every one here sends her their best wishes and 
regards, I am quite proud of it, I assure you, and I 
hereby order you, sir, to present them all, with my 
own best love, to that good and charming friend who 
has rendered my studies so pleasant, and my year 
of labor so happy. Tell her that as ever and forever 
I love her dearly. Good bye.” 

By the same mail, M. De Morville received the 
following letter : 

I think, mon ami, that everything will go on 
according to our expectations. As I mentioned in 
my last letter, we have every reason to applaud 
ourselves for our resolution to say nothing on the 
subject to Alphonsine. It was a prudent one, for, 
if the worst came to the worst, if it all ended in 


2SJi. the CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

nothing, we should still have spared the feelings of 
your old friend the father and of my young friend the 
son, with whom indeed, I am perfectly enchanted. 
But, thank God, we need be no longer under any 
such apprehension. M. Theodore De Favrolle has 
been perfectly frank, and yesterday we came to a 
thorough and complete understanding of the whole 
affair. Here are very nearly the expressions he made 
use of : 

‘‘ ‘ I will not deny it, Madame. For nearly a 
year I was the prey of a profound passion, a passion 
as senseless as it was unhappy and useless, for the 
lady that inspired it has never been aware of it. 
My father often spoke to me about marriage ; but I 
always refused his proposals, first, because I was in 
love, and then, because of course it was beneath a 
man of honor to marry when his affections were no 
longer free. But with the help of time and 
reflection, I have come to see the folly of my 
passion ; it died out by degrees, and at last I grew 
quite weary of living single any longer. Father, 
seeing this state of things, bethought him of his 
favorite plan, my marriage with Mademoiselle De 
Morville. I gladly embraced the idea, hoping only 
to have the happiness of pleasing the young lady, 
and feeling confident that she possessed every 
desirable quality. My hopes have been surpassed ; 
and I will consider the day I shall have the honor 
of being admitted into your family the happiest one 
in my life. My father thought that before Made- 
moiselle Alphonsine should know anything of the 
matter, it would be better for her to see me and 
know me, not as a suitor, but as a stranger, so as to 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


2S5 


spare my pride, in case I should not be fortunate 
enough to find favor in her eyes. This was your 
idea also, Madame; I fully appreciate its delicacy, 
and shall always feel profoundly grateful for your 
and M. De Morville’s kindness. The invitation to 
the house of a common friend, M. De Noirfeuille, 
has been a first-rate opportunity. I hope it shall 
only turn out favorably ! * 

I replied to M. De Favrolle what I knew to be 
true : namely, that Alphonsine, when quietly 
sounded on the subject, liked the young gentleman 
very much, and felt very grateful to him for his 
attentions. The poor child, hitherto careless 
enough about the style of her dress, has begun to 
spend several hours at her toilet. She thinks a good 
deal of what he says about her, and she is the first 
to see him enter the room. In short, man ami, they 
suit each other perfectly. Only this morning, M. 
De Favrolle begged me to acquaint Alphonsine with 
our ideas on the matter, assuring me that the trial 
had lasted long enough, and that once accepted 
as a suitor, he should enjoy a little more famili- 
arity with Alphonsine, and could speak to her 
with an open heart. All this was expressed so 
well and so earnestly that, in spite of my promise 
not to do anything decisive before consulting you, 
I assure you I was on the point of saying yes, 

^‘So, to say this yes, I’m only waiting for your 
authority by the next mail. I’m waiting for it the 
more impatiently, as a certain Madame Demazure, 
who has a marriageable daughter, seems to have 
fixed on M. De Favrolle for a son-in-law, by hook or 
by crook. She besieges him, she pursues him, she 


S36 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


corners him, and as her daughter is very pretty and 
not at all timid, I should much prefer having our 
projects decided upon and made known at once. 
That should put a stop to this Madame Demazure’s 
maternal impetuosity . 

‘‘Here is another proof that M. De Favrolle is 
far from being disagreeable to Alphonsine. The 
poor child, you know, never in her life said an ill 
word about any one. Well, my dear, she has 
become quite bitter in speaking about this Madame 
Demazure, and particularly her daughter, who, it 
must be acknowledged, makes even others talk of her 
almost shameless advances towards M. De Favrolle. 
This morning I found our poor child all in tears. 
I asked what was the matter, but was put off with a 
headache. However, I remembered that yesterday 
evening, as they were going to dance, that imperti- 
nent little Demazure had the impudence to come up 
to M. De Favrolle as he was talking with us, and say 
to him — 

“ ‘ Oh ! M. De Favrolle, do you forget that I 
promised you the first quadrille ? ’ 

“ Poor M. De Favrolle, thus hit point blank, was 
obliged, of course, to accept the impudent thing’s 
invitation : but he said to me in a whisper : 

“‘I hope you will believe, Madame, that if I 
had any notion of dancing, I should have asked 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine for my partner first of 
all.’ 

“The poor dear child was all the evening mor- 
tally sad. Between you and me, I think she will 
make a very jealous wife. And even this morning, 
as I said before, I found her all in tears ! 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 2S1 

You see, mon afni^ we must be quick about 
coming to a decision. The Noirfeuilles beg me 
to stay a few days longer. I see nothing incon- 
venient in it, but it is for you to decide ; though, 
to be candid, I should like to stay here a little 
longer, if it were only to witness this Madame 
Demazure’s envy. Should not she be ashamed of 
herself, to fling at people’s heads a daughter impu- 
dent enough to haul off men as partners who had no 
desire whatever of dancing with her? Once M. De 
Favrolle is regularly accepted among us a favored 
suitor, all the Demazures in the world must give up 
in despair, even if it made them sick with envy. 
That would be a very proper punishment, and I must 
say I should glory in it, 

‘‘Adieu, mon ami , — kindest regards to Miss Mary, 
embrace Gerard for me, and answer by return of 
mail. 

L. De M. 

“ P. S. — I just remember that I have not inquired 
about Miss Mary’s indisposition, which I hope will 
be a slight one, and also that I have not acquainted 
you with a little idea of Alphonsine’s. M. De Fav- 
rolle, you know, was Miss Mary’s protector on her 
journey from Calais to Paris, and she has often 
spoken about him to Alphonsine with as much esteem 
as gratitude. Can’t you guess the dear child’s idea? 
It is to conceal from M. De Favrolle' that Miss Mary 
is her governess, so as to enjoy the mutual surprise 
of both when they recognize each other at our house. 
It is a little notion of hers to which I see no objec- 
tion, so I have accordingly promised that you and I 
would be her accomplices. Ah ! I have forgotten 


£38 the chateau morville. 

another mystery. As we have agreed upon, I have 
invited M. De Favrolle to spend a few days with us. 
Alphonsine, knowing that he had been at college 
with Gerard, wishes that you should say nothing to 
him either about this invitation, so as to enjoy her 
brother’s surprise too. Again I have promised to be 
her accomplice; don’t betray our secret, but above 
all things answer me im^nediately . I can’t bear these 
Demazures any longer, with their impudent preten- 
sions.” 

M. De Morville consented to all the demands 
of his wife. She remained some time longer at 
Madame De Noirfeuille’s, and the engagement be- 
tween young De Favrolle and Alphonsine was kept 
no secret. Nor did M. De Morville see any harm in 
becoming an accomplice in the two surprises that 
his daughter was contriving for Gerard and her 
governess. 

Miss Mary had been in very great danger, but a 
happy crisis took place, and she was rapidly recover- 
ing when Madame De Morville, in company with her 
daughter and M. De Favrolle, returned from St. Cyr. 

The double surprise took place. 

Gerard was very happy to recognize in his sister’s 
lover an old college friend. But M. De Favrolle 
was profoundly affected on finding in the governess 
of his fiancee the young girl that he had once loved, 
so long, so passionately, and so hopelessly. 

One by one, Henry O’Reilly’s predictions were 
approaching realization. 


END OF PART SECOND. 


PART III 


COMPLICATIONS 


M 



CHAPTER 1. 


THE PAVILION OF THE ROCKS. 

Morville Park was bounded on the north by a 
tributary of the Indre, deep and rapid, and confined 
within very high, steep banks. These banks were in 
most places the solid rock, straight as a wall, and on 
the top of the highest summit had been erected a 
pavilion containing several rooms. Here the De 
Morvilles were often in the habit of assembling in 
the pleasant summer season, passing whole days there 
on account of the vast and beautiful panorama of the 
surrounding country that it afi*orded. 

Situated on the highest eminence for many miles 
around, the pavilion commanded uninterrupted views 
in almost every direction over Le beau pays de 
Touraine,''* the garden of France. Northward, far 
beyond the foreground of a rich and diversified land- 
scape of vineyards, corn fields, woodlands, and mea- 
dows of intense verdure, the eye could trace the 
shining Loire coming into view beneath the lordly 
pinnacles of the Chateau Chambord, winding past 
the gloomy Castle of Blois, reflecting from its dark 
bosom the massive battlements of Amboise, and dis- 
appearing in the shadow of the vast Cathedral of 
Saint Martin of Tours. Eastward, passing over the 
ancient forest of Loches, the eye could follow the 
picturesque valley of the Cher, tracing it by the seas 

(241) 


THE CHA TEA U MOR VILLE / 


of undulating foliage that lined its hills in the direc- 
tion of Bourges. Southward, rose a prominent fea- 
ture in the landscape, the white tower of Loches 
Castle, Louis XL’s terrible State Prison, and far be- 
yond it in the extreme distance the eye could barely 
catch the dim outlines of the Limousin mountains. 
Westward, spread at your feet, lay the bare levels of 
St. Maure, every line of stream and boundary as 
clear as on a map, and beyond them could be easily 
distinguished the great forest of Chinon, embosoming 
in its dark masses the gigantic wrecks of its famous 
castle, the Windsor of the French Kings. 

Many and many a happy day had Miss Mary and 
her pupil passed in the pavilion, well provided with 
maps, books, and telescopes, studying with the 
keenest relish the checkered story of Central France, 
and, from the vantage ground of this lofty eyrie, 
swooping down with heated imaginations on every 
point of historical and romantic interest in the grand 
panorama lying at their feet. The golden haze of 
the misty past, floating over the enchanting land- 
scape, touched with the magic 'Tight of other days” 
every field, hill, river and gay chateau, and, turn 
which way they would, they continually saw flashing 
up before their mind’s eye the bright names of the 
Plantagenets, the Valois Kings, Julius Caesar, Quentin 
Durward, Mary Queen of Scots, Henry IV., the 
Guises, Cardinal Richelieu, poor Margaret of Anjou 
— ^but oftenest of all, highest and brightest of all and 
the greatest favorite of all, tl^e enthusiastic young 
students contemplated with mingled tears of grief 
and veneration the dazzling name of the holy Maid 
of Orleans, glorious Joan of Arc of blessed memory ! 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


Perhaps from no other point in the whole lovely 
land of Touraine could the eye linger over scenes of 
richer natural beauty or more thrilling historical in- 
terest than those commanded by the Pavilion of the 
Rocks. 

But, at the time of the year in which our story 
now reopens, the beginning of February, the sur- 
rounding country looked sad and gloomy. The 
trees still stripped of their foliage, formed dusky, 
cheerless masses on a horizon veiled by the mists of 
a wintry spring. The Pavilion of the Rocks, care- 
fully warmed, still received numerous visitors ; only, 
in place of coming together like people that double 
their pleasures by sharing them, the visitors now 
seemed almost to avoid each other as they proceeded 
to this retreat. It was provided with two stairways, 
one as usual inside, and the other outside, leading to 
a little observatory overhead — ^well provided with 
astronomical apparatus. Here M. De Morville usu- 
ally spent three or four months of the year, watching 
the stars, and with such success, by the way, that in 
1840 he was fortunate enough to discover comet 156 
on the sixth of January, though he was not a little 
chagrined on hearing that he had been anticipated 
by his friend and correspondent, Galle, the great 
Breslau astronomer, who had discovered the same 
comet just two days before. — At the present time of 
the year the observatory was closed and the door 
locked. 

M. Theodore De Favrolle had been seated about a 
quarter of an hour in the little library on the second 
floor. After long hesitation he had written the note 
which he now held in his hand. At last, he rose and 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

gave it to his footman, who was waiting outside in 
the passage. 

‘‘Take this letter to its address,** said he, “and 
bring me the answer. You’ll find me waiting here.** 

The servant departed. M. De Favrolle turned 
about to enter the library, when he found himself 
face to face with Alphonsine*s brother. 

Gerard was no longer the conceited school-boy, 
fat and florid, yet affecting an interesting paleness 
and romantic sentimentality. No, it was real and 
profound suffering that had left deep marks on his 
thin and sallow cheek. The child and the school- 
boy had vanished forever. It was now the young 
man initiated into life through suffering. 

“ Theodore, I was waiting for you,” said he to M. 
De Favrolle. 

“You were waiting for me? It was you, then, I 
heard just now going up the outside staircase ? ” 

“No.** 

“No? I would have wagered it was you, stealing 
up, and trying to make as little noise as possible with 
your big hunting-boots.** 

Gtord, pointing to his boots of the light kind 
that he generally wore, said : — 

“It must have been one of the servants going up 
to the observatory.** 

“It don*t matter,** said De Favrolle; “but, if 
you were waiting for me, why didn*t you come in ? 
I have been in the library for more than a quarter of 
an hour.** 

“ I had heard you tell your servant to wait for a 
letter that you were going to write. I wished to 
speak to you when alone.** 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 

'‘The mischief!’^ replied De Favrolle, with a 
forced smile. “ It seems to be a very serious sub- 
ject, then.*^ 

“ Very serious,*^ said Gerard in an earnest tone. 

Speaking thus, the young men entered the library, 
the principal room in the pavilion, and lighted with 
three windows looking out over the country. In a 
corner swung one of those Lima hammocks, so cool 
to take a stretch in during the hot days of summer ; 
elsewhere, wide, deep and soft arm-chairs invited 
you to comfortable study or pleasant reverie, accord- 
ing to your humor. It was here that, in happier 
days, the De Morville family used to meet to hear 
the reading of some favorite book, or, after a walk, 
to enjoy the pleasures of free, intimate, social, con- 
versation. 

De Favrolle took a seat before an open book, 
which he had not been reading. Gerard placed 
himself near his sister’s lover, put his elbow on the 
table, rested his head on his hand, and kept silent. 

“Gtord,” said De Favrolle, “I’m listening.” 

“Last autumn,” began the young man, in a grave 
tone, “ you met my mother and sister at Madame 
De Noirfeuille’s. An old project of our fathers was 
partly realized. You demanded my sister’s hand, 
and you received it. Everybody soon knew that M. 
Theodore De Favrolle was engaged to Mademoiselle 
De Morville. All this took place, as I said before, 
last autumn.” 

“ What is the good of all this preamble ? ” 

“Only listen. Being my sister’s accepted lover, 
of course you were invited here to spend some time 
with us. You had formerly met my sister’s gover- 


the CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

ness. x\lphonsine, with a child- like love of amuse- 
ment, wished to enjoy your surprise on meeting that 
young lady again. The whole family were accom- 
plices in the innocent plot. The moment came 
which my sister had arranged so carefully, and when, 
laughing heartily, she introduced you to her gover- 
ness at the breakfast-table, the change that took 
place in your features was sudden and profound.*^ 

You were watching me then very attentively? ” 
said De Favrolle, with some bitterness. 

This question seemed to embarrass Gerard a little, 
still he replied without lifting his eyes. 

My sister had spoken so often of the amusement 
that she expected from this meeting, that we were 
all curious to watch the effects of the double sur- 
prise.” 

Then you all could have remarked the perfect 
indifference with which Miss Mary received me.” 

don’t speak of Miss Mary,” said Gerard with 
a certain impatience, and starting at that name now 
pronounced for the first time in the conversation ; 
‘^I’m only speaking of you, Theodore; and Tsaw 
very clearly that the sight of my sister’s governess 
made a profound impression upon you.” 

Gerard ! ” said Theodore, ‘‘this somewhat re- 
sembles a cross-examination, a thing so much the more 
strange as I left college when you began to lisp 
‘ Mensa ’ in a word, I was a man six years ago ; six 
months ago you were a school-boy.” 

“ Six months ago such words would have humili- 
ated or irritated me,” replied Gtord in a melan- 
choly tone; “but to-day, I must confess. I’m filled 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 2J!f7 

with such new and disturbing thoughts that every 
particle of puerile vanity is completely extinguished 
within me. Yes, and you can even smile as you 
have just done, without offending me.** 

‘^Then be it so,** said De Favrolle, struck with 
the solemnity of Gerard’s tones; 'Gt’s a serious 
matter ; let us speak seriously then ! * * 

That*s what I have been doing since the com- 
mencement of this conversation. At the time of 
your entry among our family, there was nothing here 
but peace and happiness. Now, how different ! My 
father is gloomy and dejected ; Alphonsine can 
amuse him no longer ; me he can hardly bear, and 
when we’re together by ourselves his obstinate 
silence freezes me and makes me dumb. My mother 
seems a prey to some bitter trouble. My sister is 
hardly to be recognized. She is losing color and 
growing feebler every day. She often remains 
plunged in a melancholy silence from which all our 
tenderness cannot distract her. In vain does the 
doctor maintain that he sees nothing alarming in her 
case. As for my part, it alarms me very much, and 
even frightens me.** 

M. De Favrolle interrupted Gerard by rising to 
open the door of the library, for he had heard the 
sound of approaching footsteps. It was the servant 
to whom De Favrolle had given the note about a 
quarter of an hour before, who now entered ; but 
just as he was going to speak, his master made a 
sign for silence, and left the library with him, care- 
fully shutting the door. 

‘^Well, that note?** he asked in a low voice, 
turning his eyes towards the library as if to assure 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


himself that Gerard could not hear, ‘‘what have you 
done with the note ? * ^ 

“I delivered it into Miss Mary’s own hands, sir.l’ 

“ The answer? ” 

“ She will be here at two o’clock precisely. I 
saw her in the park, sir, where she is waiting for 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine to take a ride.” 

“ She will be here in this pavilion ? ” 

“Yes, sir; she used the words: In the Pavilion 
of the Rocks.” 

“ It is well. Not a word of this to any one.’* 

M. De Favrolle returned to the library, and the 
footman departed, saying to himself : 

“Won’t old Pivolet bless herself hard when I tell 
her the whole thing ! Oh ! no ! Not at all ! ” 

De Favrolle found Gerard as he had left him, only 
his face was more down-cast than ever. 

“ Theodore,” said the young man, without raising 
his eyes, “if I asked you what message was that 
which you appeared so desirous of concealing from 
me, if I asked you in the name of our common happi- 
ness, would you tell me ? ’ ’ 

“ No ! ” replied De Favrolle, curtly. 

Both were silent for a few moments, then Gerard 
resumed in a calm tone : 

“ I was speaking to you of the unhappiness that 
weighs on my family, who were living so quietly 
before you came among them. I was speaking to 
you of the silent grief that is killing my sister.” 

“Frankly, Gerard,” replied De Favrolle, after a 
moment’s hesitation, “you have selected a bad day 
for these confidences, I might almost say these re- 
proaches, which appear to me rather absurd.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


have not selected this day/^ said Gerard 
gravely; ‘‘no, I have only been waiting until the 
sufferings of my family, as well as my own, had 
reached their limit. Then I said, it is time ! I have 
sought this interview, and now I say to you clearly 
and plainly : You are the cause of the sufferings with 
which those who are dear to me are afflicted to- 
day.’^ 

“I?M 

“You! 

“ What ! your father and mother can have told 


“ They have told me nothing. But I can under- 
stand.’* 

“You are mistaken.” 

“I am not mistaken. My father, connected with 
yours by an old friendship and restrained by delicate 
scruples, dares not, no more than my mother, to 
press you to appoint the day for a marriage so long 
agreed upon. They dare still less to say to you : ‘It 
is all broken off, ’ for my poor sister loves you, alas ! 
loves you to distraction. Now then, answer ! Is it 
honorable in you to persist in thus putting off the 
marriage ? And if you are determined not to marry 
her, have you the right to remain here any longer?” 

“Oh I stop these questions I ” cried De Favrolle. 
“ Don’t force me to reply to them.” 

“ I don’t want to quarrel. That would only carry 
me away from my object. Once more I ask you, do 
you want to break an engagement which your father 
and mine have had every reason to think was settled 
and final? Say yes, or no.” 

“ My resolution is always the same.” 


12 


S50 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


To marry my sister ? 

‘‘Yes/* 

“When?** 

“ After awhile.** 

“Appoint the time.** 

“As long as your sister is ailing, as you acknowl- 
edge yourself, can one fix the day? ’* 

“ When the day is once fixed, she shall get life and 
hope, and be soon as w'ell as ever.** 

“You are only a child.** 

“ That is no answer : your hesitation is killing my 
sister j put an end to it, let the poor creature have 
some reason to rely on your promises, and I say 
again, she shall recover life, strength and happiness.** 
“ Well, 1*11 speak to your father about fixing the 
day!** 

“ Good I let us go to him this moment.** 

“ I cannot go to-day.** 

“Why not?** 

“ Because — because I don*t like to go to-day.** 
“Psha I That*s a mere evasion.** 

“ Evasion I be it so I ** cried De Favrolle, 
irritated by Gerard*s obstinacy. “ Do you think 
that a boy just let loose from school shall make his 
will my law? I have only been too patient to 
listen to you at all. — ^Ah 1 you believe me to be 
your dupe, do you ? Do you suppose that under all 
these fine words I don*t see what you* re really 
aiming at? Suppose I said to you: ‘ Don*t take 
me for a rival. I have no notion of disturbing 
your boyish passion ;* if I said that would you speak 
up so warmly for your sister? Ah! now you* re 
silent, and blushing like a girl ! ** 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 25 1 

I' have no reason either to be silent or to blush : 
I’m free.’* 

And do you think I’m so far gone that I can 
never recover my liberty? ” 

You then confess that you want to break with 
my sister? ” 

You confess then it is jealousy that makes you 
so ardently desire the marriage ? ’ ’ 

Oh ! this is too much ! ” cried Gerard, spring- 
ing up from his seat. Placing himself face to face 
with De Favrolle who had also risen, he added : 

Off with the masks ! Theodore, you love Miss 
Mary ! ” 

do ! ” 

I love her too ! ” 

‘‘ So much the worse for you then ! ” 

When two men love the same woman, what do 
they do ? ” 

‘‘ Madmen kill each other.” 

‘‘Then I’m a madman ! ” 

“ And I’m becoming one ! ” 

“ When shall it be ? ” 

“ This evening ! ” 

Suddenly the door opened, and Miss Mary entered 
the library. 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


CHAPTER II. 

MADAME PIVOLET. 

The two young men were struck dumb at the 
sudden appearance of the governess ; but advancing 
towards them perfectly calm, she began opening the 
windows, saying : — 

Excuse me, gentlemen. Mademoiselle Alphon- 
sine is coming to pass some minutes here in order to 
enjoy this first fine day of the season/* 

De Favrolle and Gerard exchanged an expressive 
glance, to ask each other if she could have heard 
the challenge they were accepting just as she opened 
the door ; but nothing in the young girl’s air or 
voice announced alarm or uneasiness. 

‘‘Monsieur De Favrolle,” said she in the most 
natural tone, “ will you have the goodness to assist 
me in drawing this sofa to the window ? Made- 
moiselle Alphonsine will rest a little while here.” 

Whilst De Favrolle was performing the required 
service. Miss Mary continued, addressing Ge- 
rard : — 

• “ Your sister is taking an airing in the park in 
the open carriage. The poor child is very weak and 
very tired. You had better go and entertain her a 
little.” 

Gerard, seeing that De Favrolle, without saying 
a word, was busying himself arranging and disar- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


253 


ranging the sofa cushions, hesitated to leave, even 
for a moment, his rival alone with Miss Mary. She, 
however, seeing hfs hesitation, said to him affection- 
ately : 

Don’t you want to keep Alphonsine company a 
little while? ” 

Gerard ran off, but without shutting the door. 

He was scarcely gone when M. De Favrolle, 
hastily approaching Miss Mary, who continued 
making preparations for the invalid, said to her in a 
low voice and in a mysterious tone : — 

I have received your reply. Mademoiselle: 
you’ll come, won’t you ? ” 

‘‘Sir,” replied the governess, simply, “ I never 
promise what I do not mean to perform.” 

“ Then you come at two o’clock? ” 

“At two o’clock,” she replied in a loud voice, 
while her clear, calm look made De Favrolle lower 
his eyes. “ In the meantime, sir, please to remem- 
ber I want to get things ready here : Mademoiselle 
Alphonsine no doubt will arrive in a few moments.” 

M. De Favrolle, surprised at this freezing recep- 
tion, which contrasted very strangely as he thought 
with the interview she had granted, bowed, and 
repeated : — 

“Till two o’clock, then. Mademoiselle.” 

At this moment, Madame Pivolet entered rapidly 
without seeing M. De Favrolle and Miss Mary, who 
were standing near the window, and went hastily 
towards the door opening out on the stairs leading 
to the observatory. At the noise M. De Favrolle 
made in going out, the housekeeper turned round 
and stopped, as if astounded at finding any one in 


THE CHATEAU MORVILLE: 


So4 

the library. For some moments after his departure 
she still remained motionless, regarding the gov- 
erness with malignant curiosity. 

Is Mademoiselle De Morville coming over this 
way ? ’ ’ asked Miss Mary. 

‘MVho? — Alphonsine ? ’’ replied the housekeeper 
roughly; she’s crying her eyes out, if that’s any 
pleasure for you to hear.” 

‘‘Crying! ” repeated Miss Mary alarmed. — 
“ What has happened to her ? ” 

“This has happened to her — thdit you shan’t make 
her cry much longer, do you hear that ? ” 

“ What do you mean, Madame Pivolet ? ” 

“Now us two for it!” cried the housekeeper 
without replying to the governess, but advancing 
towards her with an air so menacing that, in spite 
of herself. Miss Mary retreated a few paces, an 
advantage of which the housekeeper availed herself 
by approaching a few paces nearer. 

Miss Mary, sorry for having so far yielded to a 
movement of involuntary fear, saw within her reach 
a table on which she had just deposited her work 
bag, expecting to amuse herself with embroidery 
while Alphonsine should be resting on the sofa. 
Taking her seat then at this table with a coolness 
that stupefied Madame Pivolet, the governess took 
out her work, raised the needle towards the 
light to thread it, and said calmly to the house- 
keeper — 

“ What’s all this about, Madame Pivolet ! ” 

The housekeeper, seeing the grand scene that she 
had expected thus turned into an ordinary every day 
affair, was at first a little disconcerted ; but her 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ^55 

anger soon getting the better of her prudence, she 
cried out — 

So you think that you have nothing to do but 
come over here from a foreign country, from an 
island even, for, after all, you’re only an Islander! 
remember that my fair damsel ! You think you 
have nothing to do but come into a house where 
you were never heard of before, and take the best 
place with master and mistress at table, in the 
drawing-room — everywhere ! Do you think you 
have nothing to do but monopolize for yourself the 
child I nursed at my own breast? And do you 
expect that all that will pass without making honest 
people who are here twenty years and more, feel 
themselves insulted, scandalized and humiliated ? 
If you do, you’re very much mistaken, I can tell 
you, my fine Islander / ’ * 

And she uttered the word Islander in a tone that 
showed how she conceived it to be one of the most 
insulting epithets in her whole catalogue. 

‘‘Madame Pivolet,” replied Miss Mary, now as 
cool as an iceberg, “won’t you have the kindness 
to stand away a little from the window? You’re 
rather in my light.” 

“ In your light ! ” cried the housekeeper iron- 
ically, though nevertheless mechanically obeying 
orders and standing aside; “in your light! ha! ha! 
just as if we’re not light enough ourselves ! Ha ! ha ! 
ha! a little too light I should think, with all our 
fine airs, and though we look as if butter would not 
melt in our mouth ! We begin, for we are far from 
the end, we begin with the lover in the Indias. 
Oh ! my dear ! a lover in the Indias ! That gives us 


256 the CHAtEAU MORVILLEi 

consequence, but it don’t prevent others from trying 
to take his place — the dear fellow in the Indias is 
too far off! ” 

At this ribaldry the governess still remained quite 
passive, though her heart sunk at hearing such 
profanation of a sentiment so pure and noble, her 
only consolation almost in her daily trials. The 
tears started in her eyes ; for a moment she thought 
of leaving the room and joining Alphonsine, but, 
restrained by her dignity, she kept her ground, 
though a slight twitching shook her hands as she 
continued at her work. 

The housekeeper, so much the more irritated at 
the disdainful silence of Miss Mary, as she had ex- 
pected to wound her deeply, returned to the charge 
with increased bitterness : — 

Yes, our Indian lover is too far off, and we 
Islanders like 'one to be a little nearer. So we 
wheedle the mother, and persuade her that she can 
leave the house without danger, and we are already 
on such a good understanding with the husband that 
the very first evening of the wife’s absence, quick ! 
quick 1 we install ourselves in master’s room, and 
there we stick until it is time to put the daughter to 
bed and out of the way 1 ’ ’ 

The governess had imagined, till now, that it was 
herself alone who had discovered the secret of M. De 
Morville’s melancholy infatuation, a passion as deep 
as it had been carefully concealed. She was most 
painfully affected therefore at finding such a danger- 
ous secret in possession of the housekeeper, who 
continued : 

‘‘ But soon we say to ourselves : ‘ Poh ! a father, a 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


257 


miser, — thinking more of his frogs and spiders and 
stars than anything else — what can he give us? a 
little pension at the most: whereas, the son, young, 
good looking, innocent as a girl, is something solid ; 
he’s rich, he can marry.’ So, after inveigling the 
father, we inveigle the son.” 

This time the blow was too much. Miss Mary 
started up, but she felt she could not stand, and that 
she was already giving way before the miserable 
calumnies uttered by the crazy fiend before her. 
The housekeeper, perceiving her advantage, cried 
with a triumphant grin : 

‘^Oh! what’s the matter with my Islander ? 
I declare she looks a little sick.” 

Look around, please, and see where my worsted 
ball is gone,” answered the poor tortured creature 
in a calm voice, having once more resumed com- 
mand over herself. ^ 

The housekeeper stooped at once from her habit 
of obedience to look for the ball, but checking her- 
self suddenly, she exclaimed : 

How stupid of me to obey you I Am I your 
servant? Not at all. Quite the contrary. It is 
you that I shall treat as a servant, for I know all 
your secrets, my darling, and nice ones they are ! 
Let us count them over a little. Islander. First, the 
Indian lover; second, M. De Morville : third, that 
poor innocent, M. Gerard; fourth, for there is a 
fourth, M. De Favrolle, that you are mean enough 
to wish to deprive my poor Alphonsine of. But, by 
the bright light of Heaven ! by my Holy Faith ! 
Idl ” 


S58 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


‘‘How dare you speak thus, you wretched piece 
of impertinence?” cried a voice hoarse with passion. 

The housekeeper turned round with a start, and 
saw Gerard coming in and terribly irritated at the 
last words she had so roughly spoken to Miss Mary. 
He was bursting out into reproaches and impreca- 
tions, when a dignified gesture of the governess at 
once calmed his anger. After a moment’s pause, she 
asked him with an unruffled voice : 

“ Have you left your sister, Monsieur Gerard ? ” 

“Yes, Miss Mary, she is so tired and silent and 
sad that it was painful for me to remain with her. 
Just now I don’t feel quite in the humor to amuse 
her, so I thought I would come and ask you to join 
us.” 

Miss Mary accepted the offer eagerly, thus saving 
her dignity by not appearing to fly before the house- 
keeper’s miser^le slanders. She accepted Gerard’s 
arm ; but it was with a grieved heart and misgiving 
mind, as she thought of the fatal use Madame Pivolet 
might make of the secrets she had penetrated, that 
the poor young girl hastily quitted the pavilion with 
her companion. 

“Go on, my Belle A^tglalse,'' said the nurse, fol- 
lowing her with her eyes, “they won’t come out in 
a hurry, those pins I have just stuck into you ! With 
all your pride and fine ladyism, I think I have 
touched you rather on the raw this time ! Ah ! you 
think to rob me of Alphonsine’s love, do you? 
Patience, you’re not at the end of it yet. This is 
only the beginning ! ” Then going softly towards 
one of the doors, she added : “ That old blockhead 
of a Daddy Chinot ought to be here by this time, as 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


£59 


he promised. Positively, the Islander and M. 
Gerard have gone off in very good time.’* 

Then she opened the door, and called in a low- 
tone : 

Hist ! Daddy Ch^not ! Are you there ? ” 
Immediately the noise was heard of two wooden 
shoes dragging themselves down the steps coming 
from the observatory, and soon an old man ap- 
peared, clad like a shepherd, and leaning on a long 
stick; but his face announced almost an absolute 
want of intelligence, and he looked at Madame 
Pivolet with a stupid stare of deference. 

Daddy Chenot,” said the housekeeper in a 
mysterious and solemn way, the time is come ; 
there is no backing out now.” 

'^Yes, Madame Pivolet.” 

I told you to meet me here to see that you 
understood exactly what you had to do; for time 
presses : I did not think any one would be in the 
pavilion to-day ; you did well, as soon as you heard 
somebody, to go up to the observatory.” 

Yes, Madame Pivolet, I went up there, you see, 
when I heard somebody come in here.” 

Well, are you fully determined ? ” 

Determined to the death, Madame Pivolet ! 
This here thing lasts too long, you see. My poor 
old woman is like a sheep with the rot in all her feet. 
For two years she has not stirred a peg from her bed. 
You have promised me that the thing you know, by 
delivering her from the witchcraft, would get her all 
right again. That’s all I want.” 

‘‘Yes, and you must be the more determined this 
time, you know, since the toad failed.” 


260 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


‘^Yes, Madame Pivolet, I drove seven pins into 
his back, and hollered ‘ Barrabas ’ like a madman. 
But poor Mammy .Chenot still lay as stiff as a log.'^ 

A good proof that something else must be done 
to break the spell the witch has thrown over her . ' * 

No doubt.” 

‘‘And you see, Daddy Chenot, you’re not the 
only one suffering from that witch. If she was let 
alone, the district, the department, France, the 
whole world — should soon be bewitched.” 

“One thing is certain — Jean Faivre has lost his 
mule. ’ ’ 

“Witchcraft ! abominable witchcraft ! ” 

“And old Dame Jenny has had her cow ready to 
burst twice in one week. I know there are people 
in the village who say witchcraft is all humbug, and 
that the cow was in danger only because it eat too 
much clover.” 

“ Those that say so. Daddy, are beasts enough to 
eat clover themselves, or are wicked people, who 
neither believe in God, or the devil, or anything.” 

“I know that Big Peter and Long Jack who say 
witchcraft is all humbug, never go to Mass nor to 
confession, and spend the Sundays playing cards and 
smoking. ’ ’ 

“ Don’t you see ? The pagans ! They’ll end their 
days on a scaffold. But I give you my sacred word, 
all the misfortunes that have befallen the village 
lately, proceed from witchcraft of the very worst 
kind.” 

“ But the Priest also says witchcraft is all humbug; 
and Daddy Roselle, the old soldier, who teaches the 
children their catechism in the church on Sundays, 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


eei 


says there is no such thing, and that it is only fools 
and old women that maintain the contrary.’' 

Daddy Roselle is an old fool himself, and an old 
heathen too, with all his catechism. What sense can 
an old soldier have left who has lost one leg, two 
arms, and has had part of his skull shot away ? As 
for the Priest, you are quite mistaken. Don’t you 
remember how he warned us five or six years ago 
against consulting the old wizard that lived on the 
mountain, and how he was never easy until he got 
master to drive the old villain away ? Now, if witch- 
craft was all humbug, would the good Priest have 
taken so much trouble about it ? ” 

‘^Well, Madame Pivolet, you maybe right; you 
read books, you know, and we are only poor, igno- 
rant creatures.” 

‘‘Daddy Ch^not, to make a thing come to an 
end, we must put an end to it. Don’t I say the 
truth ? ’ ’ 

“ Madame Pivolet, you speak like a book.” 

“To put an end, then, to the witchcraft that has 
been laid on Mammy Chenot, on Jean Faivre’s mule, 
and on Dame Jenny’s cow, we must force the witch 
to go away from here. You understand that.” 

“Yes, Madame Pivolet, that is what you tell me 
always. But do you think she will take off the 
charm ? ’ ’ 

“Oh ! if you go and say to her with a timid air : 

‘ Do me the favor of taking off that charm, if you 
please,’ she will only laugh at you. But if you em- 
ploy the proper means, oh ! then, she’ll take it off, 
you may be sure, and mighty quick, too ! ’ ’ 

“Very good, Madame Pivolet; we shall employ 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 


the proper means, and no mistake; myself, Jean 
Faivre, his son. Dame Jenny, and her two daughters 
— we’re all ready ; yes, by the holy fish ! we’re ready 
for anything ! ’ ’ 

‘‘And the ‘Pond of the Shrieking Woman’ is 
quite convenient to remind you that it isn’t with 
sugar-sticks exactly that we compel witches to take 
off the charms they have thrown on poor people.” 

“ I tell you, Madame Pi volet, we are ready for 
anything. Yesterday, at my wife’s bedside, we all 
pledged ourselves saying : ‘ This kind of thing must 
be put a stop to, by the great Salamander ! or we’ll 
know for what ! ’ ” 

“You did, eh ! It was to know that that I wanted 
you here. It is understood, then, the proper means 
are the only means ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, it is understood.” 

“ You’re all ready? ” 

“We’re all ready.” 

“ It must take place at night, you know, for all 
the works of Satan are done and undone in the night 
time.” 

“ That’s as clear as the sun.” 

“I will send little Pierre to your cabin to tell you 
when to commence.” 

“ I can collect the whole crowd in less than no 
time.” 

“ Perhaps to-night.” 

“ The sooner the better, for all I want in this 
world is to see my poor old woman able to be 
around again.” 

“She’ll be around, Daddy, I’ll bet my head 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


26S 

on it, she’ll be around soon and sudden. But 
once the moment comes, no weakness, you 
know ! ” 

Don’t be alarmed.” 

She’ll struggle.” 

‘‘We have our fists.” 

“ She’ll scream.” 

“ Let her scream, that’s all she’ll get by it.” 

“She’ll cry, and pray, and use her little piping 
voice to exclaim; ‘My friends, my good friends, 
I have done you no harm ! Have mercy on 
me! ’ ” 

“ And we shall say : ‘ Did you have any mercy 

on poor Mammy Ch^not, or on Dame Jenny’s 
cow?”’ 

“ Daddy Chenot ! ” cried the housekeeper enthu- 
siastically, “ if you’ll do all that you’ll be worthy 
of the Cross of Honor ! You’ll be a veteran of the 
Old Guard 1 ” 

“Oh! I don’t want anything of the kind. Pro- 
vided my old woman can be around again, I’m 
satisfied.” 

Madame Pivolet listened, and hearing the noise 
of carriage-wheels, she hurriedly pointed to the old 
shepherd the door by which he had entered, saying 
in a low voice : 

“ Quick, Daddy, out there with you, and go 
down the little stairway. It’s understood the mo- 
ment I send my little Pierre — ” 

“ We shall be ready.” 

“And once Mammy Chenot is freed from the 
charm, she’ll be able to hop about like a bird,” 


THE CHA tea U MORVILLE: 


added the housekeeper, pushing the old shepherd 
out, and shutting the door after him. 

A few moments afterwards. Mademoiselle De Mor- 
ville entered the library, accompanied by Gerard 
and Miss Mary. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


265 


CHAPTER III. 

BROTHER AND SISTER. 

Alphonsine entered the library, supported by Miss 
Mary on one side and Gerard on the other. The 
poor child could hardly be recognized. Her black 
eyes, glowing with a feverish brilliancy, appeared 
larger than ever in a countenance of deathly pallor 
and worn by suffering. Still sustained by her 
brother and the governess, she sat down before the 
window on the sofa; then, laying her head on the 
cushions, she closed her eyes, not bestowing a 
single glance on her favorite landscape on the north 
of the river. 

Alphonsine,^’ asked Miss Mary, ‘Mo you feel 
comfortable ? ’ ’ 

“Sister, do you want anything else?” asked Ge- 
rard. 

Alphonsine remaining silent, he added : 

“ If you like it better, we can return to the 
park. ’ ’ 

“No, I prefer to be here,” she murmured half 
audibly. 

“Sister, shall I send back the carriage? It can 
return in two hours.” 

“No,” replied the young girl, turning her face to 
the back of the sofa. Then she added, with a kind 
of impatient and feverish hesitation; — “Yes, 


S66 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


send it away; I can walk back/^ Gerard was 
leaving the room, but his sister again exclaimed : — 
‘^No, no — let it stay; I am too weak to walk! 
The three witnesses of these caprices of the poor 
sufferer remained for some time in strict silence. 

At last, Alphonsine murmured: ‘‘I wish to be 
alone.’* 

Gerard went away sadly, and Madame Pivolet 
followed him closely, giving Alphonsine a look of 
compassion, and throwing on Miss Mary a glance 
of angry triumph. The governess remained alone 
with the young girl, who now seemed pretty calm. 
Her closed eyelids, her tranquil face and regular 
breathing, seemed to show that she had yielded 
to the sleep caused by the fatigue of the drive. Miss 
Mary, standing before her, and with one hand resting 
on the back of the sofa, gazed at her for a while with 
much tenderness, and then stooped to kiss her fore- 
head, when Alphonsine, shaking her head with impa- 
tience, said curtly: — I’m not asleep.” And again 
closing her eyes, she resumed her former still- 
ness. 

You’re not asleep, Alphonsine?” said Miss 
Mary, painfully surprised. ‘‘You felt I was going 
to embrace you, and yet you repulsed me 1 ” 

“I did,” said the young girl, quickly, without 
opening her eyes; “I didn’t want you to embrace 
me.” ‘ 

“And why do you thus refuse my caresses? ” 
“Because I don’t like you.” 

“What do you say?” exclaimed Miss Mary, 
doubting what she had heard. “You don’t like 
me!” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


£67 


‘‘No.” 

“Why so? And since when? It was only this 
morning you said you would never forget my 
affection.” 

“This morning I did not know what I know 
now.” 

“ And what do you know now, my child? ” 

“Don’t call me your child — I can’t bear to hear 
such a word.” 

“ Alphonsine, I entreat you, what is the cause of 
the terrible and most painful change that has come 
over you ? ’ ’ 

“You ask me, do you?” 

“Yes, I ask you most earnestly! But for Hea- 
ven’s sake, open your eyes ! One would think you 
were afraid of looking at me. ’ ’ 

“ If I shut my eyes, it is because I can’t bear to 
look at you.” 

“ Good Heaven ! you can’t bear to look at me ! ” 
cried Miss Mary, thunder-struck. “Do you know 
the meaning of your words? ” And then she added, 
in a low voice — “ Poor creature ! her wits must be 
wandering. ’ ’ 

“No, my wits are not wandering,” said Alphon- 
sine, who had heard the words muttered by the 
governess. “Unhappily, my wits are not at all 
wandering. ’ ’ 

“Then, Alphonsine, in Heaven’s name, speak out 
frankly ; you torture me. What ails you ? ’ ’ 

“ What ails me? I’m jealous I ” 

As she pronounced these words, which escaped 
from her like a heart-rending sob, -she sprang up on 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


26S 

the sofa, opened her eyes, and looked at the gover- 
ness right in the face. 

Miss Mary, startled at such an unexpected move- 
ment, recoiled a step, exclaiming sorrowfully : — 

You, Alphonsine, jealous of me ! 

• Yes, jealous of you ! M. De Favrolle loves you. 
This morning he wrote to you, and you promised to 
meet him here. Pivolet told me so. She saw his 
servant give you the letter. You canT deny it ! 

. ‘‘I never deny what is the truth,” answered Miss 
Mary, quietly. M. De Favrolle did write to me 
this morning, and I have promised to meet him here 
in the pavilion.” 

‘‘You see there’s no denying it,” murmured the 
young girl, bursting into tears, and covering her 
face in her hands. “ He loves you, and you love 
him! ” 

“Ah I my poor child 1 I understand her now,” 
said Miss Mary to herself. “Pardon me, oh I great 
God ! for giving way too much to my own troubles. 
They have prevented me from seeing the cause of 
this dear and innocent creature’s sufferings.” 

Then kneeling down before Alphonsine, whose 
hands still covered her face bathed in tears, she said 
softly: — “My dear child, listen to me.” 

“ No, go away, I tell you, I can’t bear to look at 
you I * ’ murmured Alphonsine, who sobbed as if her 
heart was going to break. — Oh., you / to deceive 
me thus — -you, of all in the world, to wrong me, that 
loved you so 1 — Oh I why did you ever come to 
France at all 1 Mother was right not to want you ! 
It was a cursed day when you first set foot in our 
house 1 ’ ’ 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 269 

Alphonsine, don^t speak so ! It takes away all 
my courage ; and I want it all, for the task I have 
undertaken to perform is far harder than I expected. 
Your agony, till now so sternly suppressed, has at 
last found vent. No wonder that in its first bursts 
you are unjust and cruel ; but, oh ! my poor child, 
you have wounded me sore ! ” 

And, in spite of herself. Miss Mary’s tears flowed 
hot and streaming. 

And don’t I suffer at all? ” murmured Alphon- 
sine, still weeping bitterly. 

‘‘Yes, you suffer terribly for one so young. But, 
you have accused me unjustly. Soon you shall learn 
the groundlessness of your suspicions. To destroy 
them completely shall be the last duty I have to 
accomplish.” 

Miss Mary was interrupted by the unexpected re- 
turn of Gerard. 

He entered slowly, and hesitated a second or two 
near the door; then, appearing to make a great 
effort, he advanced towards the two young girls, 
with a grave, thoughtful, almost solemn air. 

The governess, struck by his manner, looked at 
him with curiosity. He remained silent for a mo- 
ment, his face, pale as death a moment ago, now 
flushing like scarlet ; then, addressing his sister, he 
said in a faltering voice, and without daring to turn 
his eyes towards the governess : 

“Alphonsine, you wanted to be alone with Miss 
Mary; I hesitated to disturb you; but, I must confess 
it, a secret is killing me, and I have not the courage 
or the strength to keep it hidden any longer. I 
might have revealed it to Miss Mary herself when 


S70 the ChAtEAU MORVILLE : 

alone in her company, but I prefer to come to the 
point at once, and — in your presence. I hope she 
will appreciate such a proceeding. Then, as she 
loves you dearly, she may perhaps listen to me, your 
brother, without becoming very angry. ^ * 

Alphonsine shuddered when her brother spoke of 
Miss Mary’s affection ; then, smiling bitterly, she 
turned her face aside to conceal her tears. The 
governess looked at the young man with increased 
surprise, saying: — 

‘‘Explain yourself. Monsieur Gerard. What se- 
cret have you to tell me ? ’ ’ 

He blushed again, and his fine features expressed 
deep anguish. He wished to speak, but his emotion 
smothered his words ; his eyes filled with tears ; 
then, throwing himself on his knees beside the sofa 
where Alphonsine was lying, he embraced his sister, 
concealed his face in her lap, and murmured in a 
voice interrupted by tears : — 

“ My sister, my dear, good sister, I implore you, 
tell Miss Mary — that I love her ! ’ ’ 

“You love her!” exclaimed the young girl in 
painful astonishment ; then, putting her arms round 
his neck, she mingled her tears with his, saying — 
“Ah! my poor brother — then we are both most 
unhappy creatures indeed ! ’ ’ 

And the two poor children, sobbing convulsively, 
their heads resting on each other’s breast, wept in 
silence — Gerard trembling and overwhelmed as if he 
had committed some wicked action, Alphonsine 
astounded at the revelation of her brother’s love, a 
love that seemed terribly ominous of new mis- 
fortunes. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


Miss Mary, profoundly affected at Gtord’s deli- 
cacy and loyalty in thus putting, as it were, his pure 
and noble love under the shield of Alphonsine’s 
innocence, gazed at the brother and sister with 
inexpressible interest and regard ; and her only 
thought now was to cure them completely, one of a 
senseless love, the other of a senseless jealousy. 

Gerard, feeling Alphonsine’s scalding tears flowing 
on»his hands, raised up his head, saying : — 

You’re weeping ! You pity me then ? ” 

Do I pity you, poor brother ! ” she replied ten- 
derly, and yet bitterly; ‘Gndeed I do pity you from 
my heart, for it is little you know about the object 
of your love. She is here for our destruction ! ” 

“ Our destruction ! ” exclaimed Gerard stupefied, 
and taking his sister’s hand; ‘‘ Alphonsine, what 
are you saying ? Miss Mary our destruction ! an 
angel of goodness ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Miss Mary!” sobbed Alphonsine ; “she an 
angel of goodness ! oh 1 sweet Virgin, help me I 

Don’t you know, brother ” 

The governess laid her hand gently on her pupil’s 
mouth, saying in an almost supplicating tone : 

“ Dear child, I implore you, not a word more; 
you will regret hereafter the injustice of your suspi- 
cions. Listen to me a moment, and you too. Mon- 
sieur Gtord. We three are in a false position, 
quite unworthy of us. Let us have the courage to 
look at the truth right in the face. Then we shall 
recover that mutual esteem, that mutual affection 
which nothing can ever again disturb, once that we 
have frankly explained ourselves.” 

Alphonsine gave an incredulous shake of the head. 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


which did not escape Miss Mary; but, taking Ge- 
rard’s hand and his sister’s in spite of her resistance, 
she continued : 

Let us speak to each other in all sincerity and 
candor — we can easily do it — as for me, I am almost 
an old maid,” she added with a melancholy smile; 
‘^you. Monsieur Gerard, are already a man, and 
Alphonsine will soon be a woman, for she shall soon 
be married.” 

At this word, Gerard’s sister, without looking at 
Miss Mary, shivered all over, showing how painfully 
she felt the allusion to her blasted hopes. The 
governess interrupted herself only for a moment, 
and then continued : 

Let us explain ourselves with candor, without 
reserve. Let us even say what may be painful to 
say: then at least we shall have something where- 
with to guide us out of our difficulties. Are you 
willing, Alphonsine ? ” 

Oh ! what’s the use ? ” replied the young girl. 

‘‘For my part,” said Gerard drying his tears and 
yielding to a vague hope : ‘‘I promise not to utter 
a word liable either to conceal or to give a wrong 
construction to my thoughts.” And he waited with 
anxiety the first question from the governess. 

‘‘Monsieur Gerard,” "she asked, “at the time of 
your arrival here from college, did I ever try to 
attract your attention ? ’ ’ 

“Miss Mary,” replied Gerard, astonished, “I 
never said you did.” 

“I don’t accuse you of having said it, I only ask 
you if I ever did it.” 

“ Never, oh ! never ! ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 

Did I ever try to gain your friendship by flatter- 
ing your self-love ? 

‘‘ So far from that, Miss Mary, I have always 
known you, just like my father, to scold me when I 
did wrong and to encourage me when I did well. 
Sometimes even I thought you a little too severe to- 
wards me.” 

^ Another question. Monsieur Gerard : After treat- 
ing you kindly and affectionately, as was only my 
duty, did I ever all at once turn round and, by 
changing my conduct, attempt to excite your anger 
or vexation ? ’ * 

‘‘ Never, indeed. Miss Mary. Often I kept apart 
because I saw you surrounded by persons whose 
presence troubled me. But when I approached you 
again, your reception of me was always the same, 
you never seemed to trouble yourself about my 
coming or my staying away. Alas ! I must even 
confess, the evenness of your temper often gave me 
deep pain.” 

‘‘So then. Monsieur Gerard, you don’t accuse, me 
of any coquettish trick? You acknowledge that I 
have never done anything to excite the love that you 
have, just confessed to your sister. Therefore, of 
course, you will also acknowledge, that if this love 
has made you unhappy, I at least am not to be 
blamed for it ? ” 

“ Alas ! Miss Mary, it is not your fault that I love 
you.” 

“ My dear Alphonsine,” said Miss Mary, turning 
to the young girl, who was silently listening to this 
interrogatory without being able to guess where the 
governess was taking her brother, “do you think 
13 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


that Gerard has answered truly? Do you share in 
his ideas in my regard? 

Well, yes, I think I do,’^ said Alphonsine, hesi- 
tating. 

Now, then. Monsieur Gerard,*’ said Miss Mary, 
‘‘let us now speak with more sincerity if possible, 
than ever. Let us not shrink from the expression 
of any truth, no matter how embarrassing or painful 
it may be,” she added, covered with blushes. “You 
love me, you say. What was your expectation ? Did 
you expect me to love you in return? ” 

“ Good God, Miss Mary,” cried the young man, 
in a reproachful tone, “ how can you ask me such a 
question? what else did I expect? You heard me 
just now implore my sister to tell you of my pure 
and honest love. Any other idea of mine should be 
so infamous, abominable and accursed, that I am 
pained to find you think me capable of entertaining 
it ! ” 

“ I believe you, Monsieur Gerard,” said the gover- 
ness, cordially pressing his hand. “ I did not want 
to insult you or to insult myself by an unjust doubt ; 
but, as I have said before, there are positions in life 
from which we must deduct frankly, even bluntly, 
all the consequences, in order to arrive at the reality 
of things. So, I believe you. Yes, you have loved 
me as I should be loved ; me who desired no love, 
you have loved with all the purity of a noble heart. 
You have expected nothing from your passion un- 
worthy either of me or of yourself, I am well con- 
vinced. Tell me then, what did you expect? ” 

“What did I expect?” said Gtord, astounded at 
the question, and turning towards his sister. “You 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S75 


hear her, Alphonsine ? Miss Mary asks me what I 
expected, what I hoped for.” And addressing the 
governess, he added in a voice trembling and full of 
emotion : 

As Heaven is my witness, my only hope was to 
marry you, and to pass my life here with you and 
my sister ! ” 

Such a wish honors me. Monsieur Gerard, for it 
springs from a generous and pure sentiment. But 
let us see. Didn’t it ever come into your head that 
people would think, and that they should be very 
right too in thinking, that our ages are not at all 
suitable. You are little more than twenty ; I am 
more than twenty-four! Yes, that at least!” she 
added with a charming half smile. We must be 
quite frank, you know. So I am almost an old 
maid, and you are still almost a boy, not for want 
of judgment, or feeling, or heart, but in years. 
And then just think a moment. Monsieur Gtord. 
I have entered your family, honorably confided in, 
to teach your sister a little knowledge, to help her 
by my experience in life, by my precepts and ex- 
amples; and could I betray that confidence by steal- 
ing you from your father’s and mother’s arms? I have 
left my country and all those I love, only with the 
hope of helping them to live by the honorable fruits 
of my labor ; and do you think I could ever return 
to my family with a fortune due to the blind chances 
of a senseless passion ? ” 

Oh ! Miss Mary, I see you don’t love me ; you 
can never love me,” cried Gerard, heart-broken; 
‘‘ and what is to become of me ? ” 

Everything that is good,” said the governess, in 


27 Q THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

a touching voice. With your noble heart and 
honorable principles, you at least deserve to be 
happy. I know at all events that I shall ever look 
on you as a dear friend, and I hope that you, too, 
as well as every one else in this dear old house, shall 
keep me in kindly remembrance, for I’m now going 
to leave it forever.” 

‘‘What 1 you’re going to leave us. Miss Mary! ” 
cried the brother and sister together ; — the one in 
consternation, the other with surprise and a kind of 
involuntary joy, for she saw in Miss Mary’s depar- 
ture, the departure of a rival. 

“My poor child,” said the governess, pressing 
her pupil’s hand, “how much you must have suffered, 
you that loved me so dearly ! The very idea of my 
departure gives you consolation.” Then turning to 
Gerard, whose eyes anxiously sought new informa- 
tion ; “My dear friend,” said she, with an inde- 
scribable charm, “ you love me with a generous 
affection, don’t you. Well, then, I address myself 
to your kind, good, generous heart. Tell me, will 
you be sorry that I am happy, since happiness awaits 
me in the bosom- of my family, where I am now re- 
turning? ” 

This appeal to the delicacy of his affection, that 
sweet phrase, my dear friend^ by proving to Gerard 
in what esteem Miss Mary held him, began to give 
him some consolation. But Alphonsine, hardly able 
to believe her governess’s words, fixed on her a 
penetrating look, trying to read on her face the con- 
firmation of her hopes, and repeating mechani- 
cally : — 

“ You’re going away : is it really true ? ” 


OI^, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ^ 

the first place/’ replied Miss Mary, '^your 
approaching marriage naturally puts an end to the 
duties confided to me by your parents.” 

Gerard shook his head, and Alphonsine mur- 
mured despairingly : 

But you know right well that such a marriage is 
impossible.” 

have good hopes of quite the contrary, my 
child. But any way, my departure is irrevocably 
decided upon.” 

These words destroyed for the moment Alphon- 
sine ’s lingering doubts : but, assailed by a new fear, 
she snatched her hand from the governess’s, and, 
bending down her weeping, blushing face, she 
exclaimed : 

But if you go away, M. De Favrolle follows 
you. And then, my poor brother, you shall die of 
grief.” 

The governess answered in a moving and tender 
voice : 

‘‘No, M. De Favrolle does not follow me; nor 
shall your brother die of grief. I have sufficient 
confidence in the strength of his judgment and the 
uprightness of his heart to be certain that he will 
nobly renounce an impossible marriage, yes, a 
marriage absolutely impossible : for besides the 
reasons I . have just now given your brother to 
render it so, there exists another still more 
decisive. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” cried both at once; 
“explain yourself. Miss Mary! ” 

“ My dear Alphonsine,” said the governess, “ the 
difference in our ages and the serious nature of 


278 the chAteau MORVILLE: 

my duties have hitherto established such relations 
between us that I could never speak to you affec- 
tionately without a little reserve. Certain con- 
versations were forbidden between us, and yet I 
often felt how sweet it would have been to take 
you into my full confidence. To-day, my poor 
child, suffering has given you years; my authority 
over you is about to cease forever; you can never 
again be my pupil, will you be my friend? ” 

‘^Me ! said Alphonsine, making every effort to 
resist the charm of that voice she had always so 
loved to hear, but which she still imagined she had 
reason to distrust. Me ! your friend ! 

‘‘Yes, my dear children,” she replied, looking 
from one to the other, “ my friends, for I think I 
can entrust to the honor of one and the affection of 
the other a secret which until this moment it has 
been my duty to keep to myself.” 

“And this secret,” asked Alphonsine, her eyes 
sparkling with impatience, “ what is it ? ” 

Miss Mary stooped towards the two young people, 
and, with eyes cast down and blushing cheeks, she 
said in a low voice : 

“ I love somebody myself.” 

Gerard covered his face in his hands to hide his 
painful emotion, for this avowal of Miss Mary 
destroyed for ever whatever hopes still lingered in 
spite of him : but Alphonsine started and squeezed 
Miss Mary’s hands, exclaiming : 

“It is not Monsieur De Favrolle then that you 
love?” 

“No,” replied the governess, fixing a noble, 
fearless glance on Alphonsine who still seemed in 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ^79 

doubt. ‘‘ No, it is not Monsieur De Favrolle that I 
love.’* 

Alphonsine’s suspicions disappeared ; she threw 
herself into Miss Mary’s arms, embracing her with 
tears of joy. 

Gtord raised his head, and trying, poor fellow, 
to conceal as well as he could his profound grief 
and disappointment, he said timidly, in a smothered 
voice : 

‘‘ Miss Mary, excuse me, a last word. You’re in 

love.” His sobs almost choked him. ‘‘ Have 

you been so, long ? ” 

‘‘Before I left my father’s house,” she replied, 
“ I was engaged to the man I love. My father and 
mother have blessed the union.” 

“ Ah ! my poor brother ! ” said Alphonsine com- 
passionately to Gerard who seemed sunk in despair ; 
“take courage. Alas! Miss Mary loved some one 
before she ever knew you ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, you’re right, sister. I will take courage,” 
replied the young man, raising his fine honest face 
still bathed in tears ; and, looking at the governess, 
he added : “ Believe me. Miss Mary I will be worthy 
of your friendship — I will be worthy of your confi- 
dence. ’ ’ 

“I know you will, mon ami,'' replied Miss Mary, 
cordially pressing the young man’s hand. “ And 
then I must tell you one of my dearest hopes. 
Travelling is good at your age. Perhaps in your 
travels yoji may one day come to Ireland, and 
then — then I can promise you a real hearty old 
Irish welcome from the man for whom I shall 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


demand your fraternal affection; for, believe me, 
he will deserve it.” 

‘^Ah, Miss Mary!” replied Gerard, respectfully 
pressing her hand to his lips, the noble man of 
your choice shall always have my warmest affection 
and my deepest regard.” 

Miss Mary, ” said Alphonsine hastily, I 
hear steps in the adjoining room ; somebody is 
coming. ’ ' 

‘Mt must be M. De Favrolle. I told you I have 
promised to meet him here.” 

The brother and sister started at a name that 
wakened up their jealousy instantly, and the young 
man endeavored to wipe away all traces of his 
tears for fear his rival should notice them. The 
governess, understanding their trouble, said to 
Alphonsine : 

My child, pass out with your brother by the 
observatory steps. Take courage. I have good 
hopes for you of the result of my interview with 
M. De Favrolle. Here he comes ; quick — 
quick 1 ” 

^‘Alas! my dear Miss Mary,” replied the young 
girl as she went out, leaning on her brother’s 
arm, ‘‘I’m only half consoled and comforted as 
yet.” 

“Courage, my darling child! This very day, 
if I can believe my own feelings, you shall 
be consoled and comforted to your heart’s con- 
tent.” 

Just as the brother and sister disappeared down 
the observatory stairs, Monsieur De Favrolle en- 
tered the library. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


281 


CHAPTER IV. 

THEODORE DE FAVROLLE. 

Monsieur De Favrolle entered with a calm, reso- 
lute, self-possessed air, and said to Miss Mary : — 

'' I thank you. Mademoiselle, for having granted 
me an interview on which I set a great value/’ 

‘‘ I agree with you, sir, in considering this inter- 
view both serious and important.” 

‘‘You are aware of its object ? ” 

“Perhaps I am, sir.” 

“Then, Mademoiselle, wijjJiout circumlocution or 
preamble, I come to the point at once. I love you. 
It is absurd; it is foolish; I don’t deny it. But 
I have loved you these two years. I thought I had 
cured myself, because I thought you were lost to me 
forever. I saw you again, and I loved you more 
passionately, more madly than at first. Say what 
you please — think what you please — I love you ! 
This time you must understand it. I love you ! I 
think I’m right in loving you; and I’m going to 
love you forever ! ’ * 

“Monsieur De Favrolle,” said Miss Mary, with 
dignified and touching simplicity, “nearly two 
years ago, the time to which you refer, fearing to 'be 
ill-treated by some ill-bred travelling companions, I 
addressed myself to your courtesy, your honor. You 
granted me a protection replete with the nicest deli- 

13* 




THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE. 


cacy and respect. I remember it still with gratitude. 
I think you remember it also, in spite of the strange 
avowal you have just made.’* 

‘‘This avowal is neither discourteous nor dis- 
honorable. The highest lady in the land cannot be 
offended either at being loved or being told of it.” 

“ Persistence in such an avowal becomes offensive, 
sir, when the woman says to the man : ‘ Sir, however 
flattering your love may be, I cannot return it.’ ” 

“ And that is your reply to me ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ You don’t love me, then ? ” 

“No; and, if you please, let us change the 
subject.” 

“ Of course, you would feel more compassion for 
a languishing, weeping lover. But I’ve got through 
all that. Yes, I langui^ied and wept enough after 
separating from you in Paris. I was in despair, for 
there is nothing that renders a man more gloomy or 
more reckless 4i^n an impossibility. But now I see 
you, I speak to you. I’m near you. Instead of wast- 
ing my strength and energy again in sterile despair, 
it is certainly wiser to employ both strength and 
energy in winning you, in breaking asunder the 
obstacles that separate us. And that is what I’m 
determined to do. Any other course would be 
weakness on my part and utter folly. So, being 
neither weak nor foolish, though passionately .in 
love, I want you to love me, and I’m resolved that 
you shall.” 

“I see with pain. Monsieur De Favrolle, that a 
conversation, which I regard as very serious, both 
on account of my approaching departure and of 


OR, LIFE IN rOURAINE. 28S 

something that I have to say to you, is becoming a 
subject for jest.’* 

Ah ! you think what I say is a jest, do you ? ” 
Frankly, sir, I cannot qualify by any other 
name this comedy of exaggerated love.” 

I like the word co77iedy well. You are nearer the 
truth than you think; in fact you have hit it. Don’t 
you know that many comedies turn on an abduction, 
and all end in a marriage ? ’ ’ 

‘^An abduction!” repeated Miss Mary, who 
already began to tremble, and whom the tone of 
this passionate but determined man was fast depriv- 
ing of her presence of mind. 

Show me any other means of getting out of my 
difficulties. By it I escape them all and I have you.” 
‘‘ Do you think of the house you’re in, sir? ” 
Certainly I do, and I hasten to quit it as soon 
as possible. I know by heart, I assure you before 
hand. Miss Mary, all the objections that you may, 
can, shall, or will make to my proposal. You can 
tell me nothing about Mademoiselle Alphonsine 
that I have not said to myself scores of times, over 
and over, by day and by night. I found her a 
charming creature, and that was natural enough ; 
she was a good copy of you. In fact, on nly 
honor, had I not seen you again I would have mar- 
ried her with pleasure, and she should, I think, have 
lived a very happy life with me, for, after all. I’m a 
gentleman. But, as a gentleman, I must now con- 
fess that, loving her no longer, I cannot marry her., 
Could her father then, her mother, her brother, 
chivalrous though he be, absolutely insist on the 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 


poor child’s unhappiness? Besides, such a marriage 
would be impossible after the scandal.” 

What scandal, sir ? ” 

The scandal of your abduction, which I propose 
to effect.” 

‘‘You attach great importance to that idea of 
abduction.” 

“ Yes, in fact it is my last and only idea. — Accord- 
ingly, as a gentleman, I consider it my duty to warn 
you that I am going to carry you off at the first 
opportunity, so don’t be too much frightened when 
it comes. My plan is fixed, everything is in readi- 
ness. However, I confess, a word that you uttered 
in the beginning of this conversation, disconcerts 
my projects a little.” 

“Was it that appeal I made to your honor, sir? ” 
said the poor governess, more and more terrified at 
the iron determination that she read in the young 
man’s stern features. 

“ There’s no need, my dear Miss Mary, of appeal- 
ing to my honor : shall you not be my wife ? No, 
what disconcerts my plans a little is the allusion you 
made to your approaching departure. ’ ’ 

“Yes, my departure may occur now at any mo- 
ment.” 

“I’m exceedingly grateful. Miss Mary, for that 
valuable piece of information,” replied De Favrolle, 
who then began looking around him as if examining 
the locality. “The nearness of your departure com- 
pels me to modify my project.” So saying, he ran 
to the door leading to the outside stairs, locked it, 
put the key in his pocket, and returned to the gover- 
ness, who, more and more alarmed, exclaimed : 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S85 


** What is the explanation of this strange conduct, 
sir?^* 

Nothing simpler, Mademoiselle. You under- 
stand that however near your departure may be, you 
cannot possibly leave Morville before this evening. 
Now time is pressing, but I have still enough left to 
have all my preparations made before night, and that 
they shall be, you may be sure. Now, here’s my 
plan in two words. A good many persons have 
come to this pavilion to-day. It is most probable, 
then, that it shall receive no more visitors this even- 
ing. Any way, once that you are locked up 
here ” 

I locked up here? ” 

‘^Yes, Mademoiselle; but, please, don’t interrupt 
me for a few moments. Once locked up here, you 
may call in vain. We are a long way from the 
house, and the windows of this room look out on 
the river, where no one ever passes. So your cries 
would be useless. I leave you here locked up in the 
library ; I also lock the lower door, and carry off the 
keys. It is dark now about five o’clock, and they 
don’t dine at the house before seven. This gives 
me plenty of time to prepare, for your absence can’t 
be remarked before the second bell for dinner. I 
have already provided a carriage and horses, which 
towards nightfall shall be waiting for me at one of 
the little gates of the park, near this pavilion. I 
return here with my footman, a sure, discreet and 
devoted servant, to aid me in overcoming your re- 
sistance, if, as I can hardly believe, you should put 
me to the deplorable necessity of employing force to 
take you to the carriage. But, I’m already certain 


^S6 the cha tea U MOR VILLE : 

that you would be quite resigned, and would set off 
quietly in my company. We stop three leagues from 
here, in the middle of the forest of Amboise, at the 
house of a gamekeeper’s widow. She’s informed 
beforehand, and will give you modest hospitality. 
A room is at your disposal. You retire to it quietly 
and lock yourself in, but I swear to you. Miss Mary, 
by the honor of my family, by my own honor as a 
gentleman, and by my hopes of eternal salvation, that 
I shall never be wanting in the most scrupulous and 
punctilious regard and respect towards you. My 
only object is to compromise you so much by appear- 
ances that you cannot help giving me your hand. 
We remain five or six days in the gamekeeper’s 
house, after which, your scruples being conquered, 
as I’m sure they shall be, we can appear once more in 
the world. — My father, delighted at the stratagem, 
will take it on himself to appease his old friend. 
Your family, acquainted with Gretna Green, will 
fully understand our attempt to imitate an institu- 
tion unfortunately wanting in France. You will 
grant me your pardon and your hand, for my con- 
duct, full of the most deferential respect and affec- 
tion, -shall have appeased you and moved you. We 
are married at last, and thenceforth all my life is 
consecrated to prove to you that the most absurd 
means may infallibly lead us to perfect happiness.” 

M. De Favrolle expressed himself with so much 
confidence, the details appeared so natural, the plan 
so practicable in spite of its audacity, that Miss 
Mary, with all her external smiles of disdain, trem- 
bled in every limb. It would soon be night. At 
that time of the year, the fields are deserted, and the 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ^S7 

/orest of Amboise can be reached by lonely byroads. 
Miss Mary therefore could count on no succor what- 
ever in this sore need. 

Everything failed her at once. Only that very 
morning, sustained by the hope of a speedy return 
to her family, and by the certainty of finding Henry 
O’Reilly at Dublin, where he should have already 
arrived, she had been flattering herself with the hope 
that she could calm down all the passions she had 
wakened up unknown to herself, that she could win 
over angry friends and prejudiced enemies, and thus 
leave no one but well wishers behind her at the Cha- 
teau Morville. But she had counted too much on 
her courage, her coolness, the uprightness of her in- 
tentions, and the goodness of her cause. A daring, 
reckless man was now dashing her hopes to earth, 
and destroying her happiness forever. 

Making a last effort, she stretched her hands 
suppliantly towards M. De Favrolle saying, — 

‘‘ Oh ! sir, it is impossible for you to persist in so 
abominable a project ! ” 

‘‘A thousand pardons. Mademoiselle,” said M. 
De Favrolle, calmly, ‘‘the day is wearing away, 
the moments are precious, excuse me for leaving 
you.” And hurrying to the door before she 
knew what he was about, he opened it quickly 
with the intention of locking her in, when, all 
at once, he found himself face to face with a 
stout, sturdy-looking man, wearing a drab over- 
coat and top boots covered with mud. De Favrolle 
started back with surprise, and at the same instant 
he heard Miss Mary exclaim, half wild with joy and 
surprise : — 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


2SS 

Oh ! John ! dear John Welsh ! It is Heaven 
sends you here ! * * 

M. De Favrolle instantly recognized the English 
coachman who nearly two years before had so 
urgently requested him to take care of the young 
strange lady at the Calais diligence office. Miss 
Mary, trembling at the sight of that faithful servant, 
who no doubt brought news from Ireland and who, 
anyway, had arrived just in the nick of time, 
remained leaning on the back of a chair, unable to 
advance to meet him. M. De Favrolle, concealing 
his violent rage at this awkward contretemps, saluted 
her respectfully, saying : — 

Mademoiselle, here is something that makes 
new and profound modifications necessary for the 
success of my plan. I’m going now to study them 
out. I have been too near happiness not to make 
another and more successful attempt to secure it.” 

And saluting her again, he departed, leaving Miss 
Mary alone with John Welsh. 


OR^ LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


289 


CHAPTER V. 

JOHN WELSH. 

Miss Mary soon recovered from the agitation 
into which John Welsh’s sudden and most oppor- 
tune appearance had thrown her, and she ran with 
outstretched arms to welcome the honest fellow, 
crying, as he looked at her with delight : 

Oh ! John, I’m so glad to see you! You come 
direct from Dublin, don’t you? How have you left 
father and mother, and how are my dear sisters? ” 
and she heartily embraced the faithful creature in 
the exuberance of her unexpected happiness. 

‘‘They are all first-rate, my dear Miss Mary; I 
never saw them better in all my life, and you’re 
well too, thanks be to God 1 ” answered John, dry- 
ing his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“You’ve seen them lately, John, haven’t you? 
You saw them often, too. I’ll be bound; they often 
mentioned you in their letters.” 

“ Oh ! yes. Miss Mary, I saw them every day 
regular. On my return to Dublin, your father. 
Squire O’Connor, recommended me so strongly to 
Mr. Peter Purcell, of the Imperial Hotel, that he 
sold me, on credit, a jaunting car and one of the 
sweetest little mares in the city. I soon got so 
well liked that gentlemen who had known me 
at your father’s house would have no one else 


290 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


to drive them south of the Liffey. The little French 
I had picked up was also of great use to me, and the 
foreign gentlemen stopping at the Shelburne always 
asked for John Welsh when they wanted to be 
driven to St. Patrick ' or the Phoenix^ or the 
Dargle, or Donnybrook Fair^ or any of the curiosi- 
ties around Dublin. — In less than a year I had 
paid off Mr. Purcell all but five pounds, which his 
honor, long life to him, forgave me, for the sake, 
as he told me himself, of his noble-hearted friend. 
Squire O’Connor. My stable is, in Upper Baggot 
Street, not far from where your family lives, towards 
Portobello^ in a neat little cottage on the banks 
of the canal. The first thing I did every morning 
was to call at the house and take charge of their 
little orders and parcels, and it’s many a long 
tramp I had the pleasure of saving the dear young 
ladies.” 

Good honest John, just like you ! My poor 
sisters ! They can’t earn much I suppose? ” 

‘‘Oh! pretty fair. Miss Mary. What their 
little hands can do is wonderful. * They knit the 
prettiest little caps for children ; they make the 
loveliest embroidery on ladies’ slippers ; they 
sometimes draw out patterns for Mr. Fry’s Poplin 
Factory ; they paint the sweetest little angels and 
saints for book marks ; they draw the most elegant 
pictures on fans and lamp shades ; they work the 
tastiest lace collars ; they cut Irish bog oak into 
the nicest crosses and breast-pins; indeed, and in 
truth. Miss Mary, I can’t tell you half what they do. 
I only know that the shopkeepers in Sackville 
Street and Grafton Street cry out ; ‘ beautiful ! 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 

perfectly beautiful ! * when they open my parcel. 
Sometimes, when they’re very much pleased, I ask 
a shilling or two more in the price, and *I often get 
it too.” 

After stopping a moment to laugh at his own ad- 
dress, he continued : — 

Oh ! I tell you. Miss Mary, the little cottage 
looks a great deal better now than when you left 
it. What with your father, the Squire’s salary, 
the young ladies’ earnings, and the remittances you 
contrive to send home so often from France, like 
the good loving darling you were always to every- 
body, let alone your parents, — your mother, Mrs. 
O’Connor, one of the best housekeepers in the 
country, has managed to get nice new furniture in 
all the rooms, from the cellar to the garret. The 
landlord was so pleased at the sight, one day on a 
visit, that he gave immediate orders to have the 
house papered and painted in the most elegant 
French style. It would do your heart good to 
see the beautiful roses, and flowers and things in 
the area lot inclosed in an iron railing before the 
house ; but they are nothing at all to those in the* 
neat little garden behind, with its gravel walks, 
and summer-house, where the old gentleman always 
goes on fine days to smoke and read the Freeman 
or the Post^ while the young ladies are talking and 
laughing around him, though Goodness knows 
they’re hard at work at their little notions all the 
time. Oh ! its a sweet little spot. Miss Mary, and 
I hope you’ll soon be ready for us to take you to 
it.” 

The word us struck the governess. Honest John 


^02 the CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 

Welsh was not in the habit of designating himself 
by the plural number. A wild hope shot through 
her frame, and she looked eagerly at John for an ex- 
planation of the word. He understood her anxiety, 
and continued : — 

When I say uSy I must tell the whole story. 
About ten days ago, having done pretty well during 
the day, and my little mare feeling tired, I put her 
in the stable earlier than usual, and went to see the 
young ladies and tell them all about their errands. 
It was a cold, frosty night outside ; but I found them 
all comfortably sitting in the nice warm parlor. The 
Squire was reading the Post, his favorite paper, prin- 
cipally, I think, because the proprietor, Mr. Conway, 
is an old friend and often drops in to see the family. 
The only thing I like in the Post myself, is O’Con- 
nelks great speeches on the Repeal of the Union, I 
often read them out at the stand while we are wait- 
ing for a customer, and, I tell you. Miss Mary, it sets 
the boys nearly wild to hear them. But, as I was 
saying, the Squire was hard at the Post; the young 
ladies were painting some little pictures for the 
pupils of a grand school in Stephen's Green, where 
Miss Eveleen soon expects to be appointed the 
drawing-teacher. Mrs. O’Connor was cutting out 
some shirts — and a famous hand she is at that same, 
by all accounts — and little Elbe had fallen asleep 
over a picture-book on the sofa. We were all talk- 
ing away very pleasantly, — for they’re all as kind 
and as friendly with me now, God bless them ! as if 
I was one of themselves — no difference. And it’s 
about yourself, sure enough, we were talking, and I 
was telling them about the time when Black Hawk 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. ^93 

ran away with you ; when, though you were only a 
colleen hardly fifteen years old, you were as cool on 
the wild animal’s back as you would be sitting at 
the fireside ; and when you found him, in spite of all 
you could do, tearing like mad across the meadows, 
instead of pulling him one side, you shook the reins, 
gave a little cheer, touched him on the flank with 
your riding-whip, and popped him, like a bird, over 
the Spa, at a place where it was twenty-seven feet 
broad. Bedad, you did so. Miss Mary, and many’s 
the man ’ ’ 

‘‘John,” said Miss Mary, smiling, “you’re for- 
getting your story.” 

“Not a bit, Miss Mary. Well, in the middle of 
our conversation, all at once a thundering rat-at-at-at 
is heard at the street door. It took a start out of us 
all, and your mother crossed herself, wondering who 
the visitor could be at that hour of the night. ‘ I 
hope in God, it’s no bad news,’ says she to the 
Squire. ‘ Oh, no ! thank Heaven 1 ’ says your 
father, ‘ we’ve got out of that line lately.’ With all 
that, I could not but feel a little uneasy, when I heard 
your sister. Miss Annie, who had gone down stairs with 
a candle in her hand, give a little scream, and imme- 
diately run back again like lightning, a heavy step 
hot foot after her, and the clanking of a sword heard 
every now and then at the turns of the bannisters. 
We soon saw Miss Annie at the door, looking so 
scared that she could not speak a word, but behind 
her immediately appeared a tall young fellow in an 
officer’s uniform.” 

“ It was Henry ! ” cried Miss Mary, who, in spite 
of her sure presentiments, and John’s long-winded 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


29 ^ 

management of his story, was so much surprised and 
delighted at the news that for some time she kept 
perfectly still. At last she resumed in a calmer 
tone : — 

Well, John, they were all glad to see him, 
wern’t they? " 

‘‘Indeed, you may say that. Miss Mary. — Your 
sisters, as soon as they came to themselves, screamed 
with joy, and threw themselves into his arms; your 
poor mother tried to do the same, but fell back in 
the chair almost in a fit ; and your father, throwing 
off his spectacles, started up, shook both his hands 
with the greatest joy, and warmly welcomed him to 
his new house. But the Captain — the Major I 
mean, he is now a Major, and his regiment is ordered 
home to recruit — the Major, pretending not to hear 
any allusion to the great change in things, said to 
your father, in the same old, quiet, cordial way : — 
‘ Excuse me, Mr. O’Connor, for coming here so late. 
The storm of last night prevented us from getting 
into Kingstown till near twelve o’clock to-day. My 
first visit, you know, was for my father and family, 
at present visiting out at Celbridge, fully twelve 
miles from Dublin ; my second was for you, and 
here I’ve come with as little delay as possible.’ 
These were his very words. Miss Mary,” added 
John, “for I was listening attentively, and I did 
not lose a syllable.” 

“ Go on, John,” said the young girl, who listened 
to his artless narrative with intense delight, and 
in fact had the whole affecting scene as vividly in 
her mind as if she had shared in it herself; “ go on ; 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S95 


omit nothing. Oh ! if you only-knew how happy I 
am, listening to you ! ’* 

‘‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Mary, I shall forget 
nothing, I promise you. I see and hear it all as if I 
was there still. ‘ My dear Henry,’ said Mr. O’Con- 
nor, ‘ I trust we need not tell you that we deeply 
feel this kindness, but your visit is as extraordinary a 
surprise as it is a pleasure, and what surprises me 
still more is how your father and mother let you off 
so soon. ’ ‘ Oh ! it was they that packed me off, 

sir,’ says the Major. ‘ Take the gig this very even- 
ing,’ says my father, ‘and drive to Portobello as fast 
as you can. If they knew you had been in Dublin 
without calling to see them at once, they might feel 
themselves very much hurt by such strange and un- 
pardonable neglect.’ 

“Your father looked a little surprised at these 
words, though of course still pleased, but the Major 
soon explained himself. ‘ My dear Mr. and Mrs. 
O’Connor,’ says he, taking their hands; ‘ my dear 
old valued friends, my father, Myles O’Reilly, of 
Clonmore Castle, county Kilkenny, insists, and will 
take no refusal, that I shall, this very night, demand 
on my knees the hand of your eldest daughter, my 
sweet, darling Mary ; and further, that you authorize 
me to start immediately for France, to find her out 
there, and escort her safe home again.’ ” 

The poor governess could not restrain her tears, 
but she signed to John Welsh to continue. 

“Then, Miss Mary, your father said: — ‘Dear 
O’Reilly, all the authority we ever had over our dear 
daughter we now surrender to you forever, and may 
our Holy Redeemer shower his best blessings on 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


you, for you deserve them/ Your mother said 
nothing, Miss Mary ; she could only draw the 
Major’s head over to her breast, and press it there 
like an infant’s, kissing him now and then on the 
forehead. Then your sisters took him in hand, and, 
little Miss Elbe waking up from the sofa and recog- 
nizing her old friend, between the four, with tears 
and joy they almost smothered him. I began to cry 
for joy myself, but it’s little I knew what was in 
store for me. After awhile tea came in, and calmed 
us down a little. Nothing would please them all 
but to insist on my sitting down to tea with them at 
the same table. But knowing my duty, I was as 
stiff as they were stout, and insisted on going to the 
kitchen. We compromised matters by my agreeing 
at last to take tea in the same room, but at a little 
side table where darling Miss Annie brought me tea 
and toast that she had made with her own sweet 
little hands. For some time there was so much noise 
I could not hear what was going on, but at last I dis- 
tinguished the Major’s voice: ‘Mr. O’Connor,’ says 
he, ‘with your permission then, I’ll start to-morrow 
morning for the Chateau Morville in France.’ 
‘Very well, Henry,’ says your father, ‘I don’t want 
to delay you longer than is necessary to write a letter 
to Monsieur and Madame De Morville, returning 
them our most grateful thanks for their uniform 
kindness to our dear child.’ ” 

“What! he’s here then?” interrupted Miss Mary, 
taking her handkerchief from her face the better to 
read her answer in John Welsh’s eyes. 

“Just wait one little moment. Miss Mary. — You 
told me to tell you everything, you know. Now I’m 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. £97 

going to tell you what brings me here. When the 
Major had obtained your father’s permission to come 
for you, he added : ^As Mary does not expect me, 
and as Monsieur and Madame De Morville do not 
know me, perhaps it may not be best to present my- 
self before them too suddenly. It would not be a 
bad thing to send on some one in advance to 
announce me to Miss Mary, and to prepare her for 
her immediate return home. If John Welsh has no 
objections, I can take him along as courier, particu- 
larly as I hear /iis French is passable . Bedad they’re 
his very words. Miss Mary, and I needn’t say that 
it’s proud of them I am, for I believe on my con- 
science, there isn’t a gentleman in all Paris that 
speaks better French than the Major. I need not 
tell you. Miss Mary, I gladly accepted his offer, got 
a friend to take charge of my mare, came along with 
him to Paris, and that we have had an elegant trip 
of it, though mine is the best part of it so far, since 
I was the first to see you.” 

But where is Major O’Reilly now? where have 
you left him ? Is he to be here soon ? ” asked Miss 
Mary, whose joy began to be clouded as she thought 
on the difficult and painful relations she was in to- 
wards the De Morvilles and M. De Favrolle. 

‘‘I left the Major at Tours, this morning. He 
was not to leave till three o’clock in the afternoon, 
and considering the miserable post horses of this 
part of the country, he cannot be here till nine or 
ten o’clock to-night.” 

That would be too late,” said Miss Mary, speak- 
ing to herself: ‘‘John,” she added, “however 
strange the idea may appear to you, we must not 

M 


S98 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE. 


let Major O’Reilly come all the way to this house — • 
we must go and meet him.” - 

‘‘Miss Mary, you have but to command : I shall 
obey your orders whatever they may be. ’ ’ 

“Has not Henry given you some message for 
me?” 

“ Oh ! excuse me, Miss Mary, joy makes me for- 
get business a little. First, hdTe is a letter for your- 
self, and here is the one your father, the Squire, 
sends to Monsieur and Madame De Morville.” 

“Who has seen you here?” asked Miss Mary, 
opening the letter in which Henry O’Reilly an- 
nounced to her that he had just obtained positive 
assurance from his Commander-in-Chief of being 
appointed Major in the next Brevet, and that, hav- 
ing b.een himself seriously, but not dangerously 
wounded, and his regiment almost annihilated, he 
had now an opportunity of retiring from the service 
on full pay, of which — as he informed her in another 
note — he had gladly availed himself by starting for 
Ireland by the overland route, and thus getting home 
almost as soon as his letter, and at least a year or 
eighteen months sooner than he had anticipated. 

When John Welsh saw Miss Mary finish this letter 
for the third time, he thought he might venture to 
answer her question. 

“On arriving at the big house,” said he, “I 
asked the servant that came to the door, if I could 
see Miss Mary O’Connor. He surveyed me very 
attentively for a second or two, and then went to 
speak a few words to a stout middle aged woman 
who was passing through the hall, and who also ex- 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR AIN E. ^99 

amined me very closely. The servant then returned, 
told me to follow him, and led me to this pavilion.” 

Have you come on horseback? ” 

'^Yes, Miss Mary, like a regular courier, and by 
the shortest road, too, and the postilion rode back 
with his horses immediately. Major Henry will come 
by the other road in the carriage that he hired at 
Calais.” 

At Chambourg, the last station on your road, 
did you remark if they had any carriage to hire? ” 

Yes, Miss Mary, I saw a travelling carriage in 
the yard.” 

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
of M. De Morville. He appeared more thoughtful 
and melancholy than usual. He was evidently sur- 
prised at John’s presence, and said to the governess: 

“ Alphonsine has returned with her brother. Night 
was approaching. Miss Mary ; knowing that you had 
remained in the pavilion and seeing no sign of your 
return, I was a little uneasy.” 

I thank you sincerely, sir, for this mark of in- 
terest,” said the governess, who, after a few moments* 
silence, had now taken her resolution. I have a 
little favor to ask of you.” 

I am at your command. Mademoiselle.” 

Miss Mary pointed to the pens and paper lying on 
the table, saying : 

“Will you have the kindness to order your coach- 
man to place at once a horse and carriage at the 
disposal of this man, an old and faithful servant of 
my family? ** 

Surprised at such a request, M. De Morville would 
like to ask a few questions; but, reflecting that she 


soo the CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 

would not probably like to explain herself before a 
stranger, he sat down to the table without saying a 
word, wrote the order, and handed it to Miss Mary. 

The young girl thanked him, and, going over to 
John, gave him the paper, saying at the same time 
to him in Irish, which she had learned from her 
nurse and spoke pretty well : 

‘'John, like a good fellow, go at once to the 
house and give the coachman this order. As soon 
as the carriage is ready, bring it here to the end of 
the avenue on the right of the pavilion. Don’t lose 
sight of the carriage on any account, and come back 
at once to me as soon as it is ready. If the people 
of the house say anything, tell them you are execut- 
ing M. De Morville’s orders. Ah ! ” she added, 
writing a few lines on a piece of paper, “ ask for 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine’s chambermaid and tell 
her to* give you the articles mentioned in this note.” 

John Welsh took the two papers and looked 
ruefully at them for some time, for, being a 
perfect stranger at the chateau, the different orders 
he had to execute appeared to him decidedly 
embarrassing ; however, seeing there was no time 
for explanations, and trusting to his usual good 
luck, he went off determined if possible to fulfil 
them to the letter. 

A few steps from the pavilion he met the 
housekeeper. Madame Pivolet, very much sur- 
prised at John’s arrival, and at the protracted stay 
of the governess in the pavilion of the Rocks, 
had been returning there to find out the cause, 
when, seeing M. De Morville a long way behind 
her directing his steps there too, she concealed 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. SOI 

herself in a clump of bushes, let him pass by, and 
then stealthily followed him, saying:— 

rendezvous, as I’m a living woman! I 
would go off and tell Missis this minute only 
I want to know if the man with the drab riding coat 
and the boots wrongside out, is still in the pavilion 
with the Islander,'' 

She was soon at ease on this point. At the 
sight of John leaving the pavilion, she advanced 
towards him, and in the readiest manner offered 
him her services, which the honest fellow accepted, 
the more thankfully as he no more knew where 
he was than the man in the moon, only he felt 
he was to do something for Miss Mary, and that he 
was determined to do, come what might. He 
followed the housekeeper, therefore, to the chateau 
with a light heart, though in his attempts at conver- 
sation he was not very successful. The housekeeper 
had other fish to fry, as she said herself, and the 
thoughts flying through her scheming brain might 
be rendered by the following words : — 

^‘All goes well! First, let us tell Madame 
that her husband has a rendezvous with the Eng- 
lishwoman, and then I shall send little Pierre 
right away to Daddy Chgnot and his crew, and 
tell them to take their station in the woods where 
the Tours road passes near the ' Pond of the 
Shrieking Woman.' Ah ! you shall hardly escape 
me this time, my gentle Islander ! ” 

Whilst Madame Pivolet is thus concocting her 
wicked plots, let us return to the Pavilion of the 
Rocks, where we left Monsieur De Morville con- 
versing with Miss Mary. 


so^ 


THE CHA tea U MOR VJLLE: 


CHAPTER VI. 

MONSIEUR DE MORVILLE. 

The evening was wearing away ; it would soon 
be sunset. 

We left Monsieur De Morville and Miss Mary 
together in the library of the Pavilion of the 
Rocks. 

John Welsh had scarcely left the room, when 
M. De Morville said to the governess: — ‘‘Miss 
Mary, simple politeness prevented me from asking 
in presence of a stranger what use you intended 
to make of the carriage that I am happy to place 
at your orders. May I now, without being 
too indiscreet, address you a question on the 
subject?** 

“ I was just going to satisfy your very natural 
curiosity, sir. I intend to make use of that car- 
riage to take me to Tours, where I shall leave it, 
and set off at once for England.** 

M. De Morville started. He looked at the gov- 
erness with astonishment, for he could hardly 
credit his ears, and said : — “ What ! Miss Mary — 
you say * * 

“I say, sir, that I am returning to Dublin, my 
family having just sent for me.** 

“ Go away ! Impossible ! A departure so unex- 
pected ! At such short notice ! ’* 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. SOS 

In this rather hasty departure, however, sir, 
please not to see any want of respect and regard 
for you and your family. No; for, even before 

the arrival of the servant who is come to take 

me, I was determined on going away, and believe 
me, sir, it required grave reasons, very grave 
reasons, to compel me to take such a determina- 
tion.” 

‘‘To go away!” cried M. De Morville mourn- 
fully, without paying any attention to her last 
words; “to go away! What! is this to be the 
last time I shall ever speak to you again — ever 
see you again ! Oh ! it is impossible ! A man is 
not to be killed this way with one blow ! For 
you know you are killing me ! You know well I 

can’t live without you! You know well that I 

love you ! ’ ’ 

“Oh! sir, sir,” cried Miss Mary, turning purple 
with confusion, “ not a word more ! I will not 
listen to such insulting expressions.! ” 

“ Oh ! don’t say that you were not aware of 
my unhappy passion. You know what irresisti- 
ble charm attracted me towards you — what 
happiness I had in telling you my life, my 
secrets, even my faults ! A timid reserve followed 
this first impulse ; but it was the struggle of 
respect and honor with a fatal passion. Oh ! the 
traces of this struggle must have been only too 
evident to your eyes. What ! you never guessed 
the cause of the moping melancholy that made 
me seek solitude where I could isolate myself from 
every interest and every affection ? And those 
sleepless nights passed in swallowing my tears, 


SOJ^ THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 

in wildly exaggerating to myself the consequences 
of this fatal love, in order to kill it ! What ! you 
never guessed anything, never conjectured anything 
from my suffering features, from my eyes red 
with tears and hollow from watching ? Oh ! heaven 
of heaven ! to have suffered so much and not 
to have even the poor consolation of saying, 
‘ My sufferings are at least known, and perhaps I’m 
pitied.’ ” 

Whilst speaking, M. De Morville had let himself 
fall back on a chair from weakness. Miss Mary, 
terrified at the violence of the words she heard, did 
not dare to answer at once, for fear of again excit- 
ing a grief that had burst forth for the first time with 
such terrible impetuosity. ^‘You accuse me, sir,” 
replied the governess at last, in a tone of reproach, 
severe and dignified: ‘‘you accuse me, whereas the 
only fault of which I’m guilty is to have put faith in 
your honor and in your loyalty ! ” 

M. De Morville raised his head at these words, 
and Miss Mary continued : — 

“Yes; for, never, oh never! sir, would I have 
believed you capable of forgetting your duties to- 
wards me. And these duties were just as imperious, 
as sacred, as mine were towards your family. You 
knew my misfortunes, and you owed me compassion. 
You knew my conscientiousness, and you owed me 
respect. You knew that a marriage project, founded 
on mutual affection from childhood, had been de- 
stroyed by the reverses of my family, and you owed 
me pity. In all these duties and obligations, so 
sacred to a gentleman and a man of honorable feel- 
ing, you have just now failed, sir, most cruelly ! ” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $05 

^^Alas! then am I such a criminal?’* cried M. 
De Morville, painfully oppressed, ‘‘is it my fault 
that, in the monotony of my existence, a person has 
all at once appeared whose talents, education, and 
disposition have been appreciated by all, and of 
course by me? is it my fault that, chance, revealing 
to you the history of my life, has redoubled my con- 
fidence in you ? Is it my fault, if this confidence 
has changed into affection? And as to this affection, 
have I ever revealed the most remote symptom of it 
by any means that honor would disapprove of? 
Have I ever tried to pervert your mind or to seduce 
your heart ? No, no ; I have suffered — suffered in 
silence — suffered alone — suffered always ; and my 
great crime, what is it? It is just to reveal my suf- 
ferings at the last moment, on the very day when 
you leave me forever the victim of incurable 
despair. ’ ’ 

The words and attitude of M. De Morville 
revealed a grief so real, so deep, that Miss Mary, 
instead of replying to him with the bitterness of 
offended dignity, saw in him only a weak, sickly 
soul that should not be irritated, but rather strength- 
ened and cured. She therefore replied as follows: — 

“Be satisfied, sir, that I do pity you. I feel for 
you, not that sympathetic, generous compassion in- 
spired by a cruel and undeserved misfortune, but 
that sorrowful pity inspired by the sight of a weak, 
feeble spirit, which, wishing to do what is right, has 
not strength enough to lift itself out of what is 
wrong. You, a man of great physical courage, have 
no moral courage. A guilty, senseless passion 

attacks your heart, and, instead of resisting it and 
14* 


S06 the CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

killing it, all you can do is to bear it and bewail it 
in secret in the gloomy idleness of a useless life, 
absorbed in philosophy and science — neglecting 
everything for ‘ frogs, spiders and stars ’ — you, you 
to whom our dear good God has given a family to 
love and to guide through the difficulties of this 
world to the eternal world to come!’* 

‘‘ No, no. Miss Mary, I have not been so weak 
with this passion. I have struggled ; I have worn 
myself out in struggling, and you should have never 
known it only for the word that announced your 
approaching departure. ’ * 

‘‘And while exhausting your strength in this 
struggle, concentrated in yourself, indifferent to 
everything around you, and forgetful of your duties, 
you did not see what disorder and misfortune threat- 
ened the very existence of your family. I saw these 
misfortunes and endeavored as well as I could to 
avert them. No, sir, even if I had not to obey the 
call of my parents, who request me to return, my 
departure would still be absolutely indispensable.” 

“Have I understood you correctly ?” cried M. 
De Morville. “It is /, you say, who have been the 
cause of your departure. ’ ’ 

“ In leaving this house, sir, I am flying from the 
consequences of your deplorable blindness. ’ ’ 

M. De Morville looked at her with astonishment. 
She continued : 

“ Could not you, sir, a man of experience, have 
easily foreseen that your son might become the 
victim of an involuntary passion ? Was it prudent, 
was it decent to thrust him incessantly into my 
company by making him take part in his sister’s 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S07 


lessons? No, no, the slightest regard for my posi- 
tion should have prevented you frorn exposing your 
son to a danger, against which my own dignity for- 
bade me to warn you.” 

‘‘What do you say? ” exclaimed M. De Morville, 
shuddering, “ Gerard loves you ! ” 

“If it were so, sir, which of us two, you or me, 
could your son blame for it ? Should he accuse me, 
who in all my relations with him have employed the 
extremest reserve, or should he accuse you whose 
guilty want of foresight abandoned the poor child to 
the wild impulses of his age ? Thus, in your culpa- 
ble blindness, you never suspected that your son also 
suffered from a senseless passion which made him 
your rival.” 

“He! my son! my rival!” exclaimed M. De 
Morville, overwhelmed with shame and remorse ; 
and he concealed his face in his hands, murmuring, 
“ Ah ! this is too much ! ” 

Miss Mary continued 

“And your daughter, has she been any more than 
your son the object of your solicitude ? Have the 
fading away and the sinking spirits of the poor child 
ever awakened your suspicions or alarms as to the 
real cause of her sufferings ? * * 

M. De Morville looked at Miss Mary with a sur- 
prise full of anxiety, saying: — 

“ Don’t you know that the doctor attributes her 
condition to a disordered state of the nerves ? ’ ’ 

“ The watchful tenderness of a father would soon 
have discovered the doctor’s mistake, sir.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Then, sir, have you never entertained any suspi- 


308 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


cion, any surmise, at seeing M. De Favrolle adjourn- 
ing and deferring day after day the period of his 
marriage with your daughter ? ’ ’ 

The state of Alphonsine’s health explains only 
too clearly his reasons for retarding the marriage. ’ ’ 

‘^The cause, the real cause of your daughter’s suf- 
ferings, sir, is jealousy.” 

^‘Alphonsine jealous! and of whom, blessed 
Heaven ! ’ ’ 

Of me, sir. But, thanks be to God, I have 
already convinced her of her mistake.” 

^'Alphonsine jealous of you. Miss Mary!” re- 
peated M. De Morville with increasing astonishment. 

And what is the cause of this jealousy ? ” 

Monsieur De Favrolle.” 

He loves you ? ” 

‘‘ He thinks he does : but it is no such thing. A 
transient passion, irritated a little by my indiffer- 
ence, that shall soon be extinguished forever. M. 
De Favrolle will soon return to the real desire of his 
heart, and Alphonsine shall find in an early marriage 
a remedy for her sufferings and the realization of all 
her hopes. And now, sir, think of the terrible 
responsibility that should lie on you in case, which 
God in his mercy forbid I that your children’s future 
life and happiness were compromised forever ! ’ ’ 

M. De Morville had heard Miss Mary’s revelations 
and warnings with increasing anxiety and redoubling 
shame and remorse. The salutary influence of her 
words soon began to tell on him. He raised his 
head, till then bowed down in confusion, and the 
feeble suffering expression of his features gave way 
by degrees to one of calm and dignified resolution. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $09 

He presented his hand to the young girl, and, as she 
hesitated to take it, he said in a decided but feeling 
voice : 

Miss Mary, don’t refuse to take my hand ; it is 
that of a man who, after being weak enough and 
cowardly enough to forget his most sacred duties, at 
your voice wakes up from a painful dream. The 
illusion is now dispelled, and reality appears. Your 
revelations open my eyes, and I see at last how 
guilty I have been. I recognize the fatal responsi- 
bility I have incurred towards my son and daughter, 
who might, alas ! justly bring me to an account for 
the early blight of their fair young lives, they that 
could so justly lay so many claims on happiness. 
The lesson is cruel, but it shall not be fruitless. All 
my energy, all my }udgment, all the affection that I 
still feel and ever have felt for my children, shall be 
henceforth employed in atoning for my guilty negli- 
gence. This I swear to you in the face of the Eter- 
nal Heaven, yes,” he added, taking the governess’s 
hand and pressing it; ^‘this is an oath I swear to 
observe forever ! ’ ’ 

'‘And I believe you, sir,” replied Miss Mary, 
now supremely content, " yes, sir, I believe in this 
sacred oath ! ’ ’ 

" Infamous oath ! abominable as the mouth that 
dares to pronounce it ! disgusting as the ears that 
dare to listen to it ! ” exclaimed the angry voice of 
Madame De Morville, who, having been informed 
by the housekeeper of the rendezvous between her 
husband and the governess, had hastened to the 
pavilion, and now dashed into the library precisely 
at the moment when, with her hand in M. De Mor- 


SIO the chA tea U MOR VILLE : 

ville’s, Miss Mary repeated in pleased and feeling 
tones : ‘‘Yes, sir, I believe in this sacred oath ! 

These words Madame De Morville interpreted as 
a reply to a declaration of love — a mistake natural 
enough if we only remember Madame Pivolet’s ma- 
lignant hints, and that the conversation between M. 
De Morville and Miss Mary took place in a lonely 
pavilion just as night was falling. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


Sll 


CHAPTER VII. 

MADAME DE MORVILLE. PIVOLET EXPLODES HER 
CATASTROPHE. 

In spite of the darkness that the approach of 
night began to spread in the library, M. De Mor- 
ville could easily perceive the extreme paleness of 
his wife’s features, and their agonized expression of 
unspeakable grief. 

Miss Mary, more surprised than hurt at the 
insulting words uttered in a moment of senseless 
passion, remained calm and dignified. 

So then it was not false intelligence ! ” resumed 
Madame De Morville impetuously, looking in turn 
from her husband to her governess, ‘‘an evening 
rendezvous I in this lonely pavilion ! with your 
daughter’s governess ! Ah ! sir, if you have lost 
all shame for yourself, think at least on your 
children!” 

“Louise!” exclaimed M. De Morville, “recol- 
lect yourself ! Anger makes you crazy ! — What ! on 
the strength of a lying fool’s story you are credulous 
enough to believe ” 

“I believe, sir, what I see, and I see here in 
this pavilion my husband talking in secret to a 
woman who is not his wife ! ” 

“ Madame,” said M. De Morville, trying j;o 
contain his anger, “ I know the allowance that 


S12 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


must be made for the blind violence of your 
temper, but I shall never suffer you to insult 
and slander Mademoiselle O’Connor in my pres- 
ence. ’ ’ 

Monsieur, ” said Miss Mary quickly, if 
you entertain for me the respect that is my due, 
please don’t undertake to defend me. I don’t 
want to be the unhappy cause of an irritating 
discussion between you and Madame De Mor- 
ville.” 

Now, that’s charming ! ” exclaimed the 
wife, with a burst of ironical kiughter. ‘^For 
the sake of a good understanding between hus- 
band and wife. Mademoiselle is willing to keep 
on playing her unworthy part in perfect tran- 
quillity.” 

‘^Louise ! ” exclaimed M. De Morville, in spite 
of Miss Mary’s supplicating gesture, you’re losing 
your senses ! You don’t know what you’re say- 
ing ! ” 

‘‘Madame,” said the governess, interrupting 
M. De Morville, and addressing his wife, “ there 
are suspicions so odious, so absurd, that they can- 
not hurt an innocent heart. You are not at this 
moment mistress of yourself. — I shall make no 
reply to words that you will soon regret. Two 
years’ residence here have taught me to know you, 
Madame, and if I have sometimes suffered in silence 
from the vivacity of your temper, I have often also 
had occasion to appreciate the goodness of your 
heart.” 

“Enough, Mademoiselle, enough ! Do you think 
I’m the dupe of such base and hypocritical flattery? 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR A INK. SIS 

Do you think to impose on me with this pretended 
submission ? ’ ’ 

“I have no desire, Madame, but to convince 
you of your error. Speak then if you please, and 
I promise not to interrupt you until you have 
done.^* 

This promise and Miss Mary’s coolness, at first 
disconcerted Madame De Morville a little. As 
with all persons of violent tempers, her anger 
fed itself on resistance and contradiction, but it 
soon died out before calmness and silence. — 
However, her jealousies, her unreasonable spleens 
of all kinds, but particularly her conviction of 
her husband’s love for the governess, were now 
strong enough to set her on fire again, and she 
exclaimed : — 

‘‘Be it so. Mademoiselle, you shall be satisfied, 
and since you, and likewise M. De Morville, permit 
me to speak, you shall know everything that gives 
me grievous trouble. And, first of all, permit me 
to tell you that you governesses are all alike. Once 
introduced into our families, you there acquire 
tastes and habits of comfort, even of luxury, 
that you should find it very difficult afterwards to 
renounce. So, to secure your position forever, 
you employ every means in your power, right and 
wrong, to get yourselves retained in the house 
after the necessity that brought you there at 
first, no longer exists. The young girl confided 
to your care is the object of your first seductions. 
Her education serves you as a pretext to isolate 
her from her parents, to monopolize her so as 
to render her a docile slave, reserving for your- 


5/4 CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

self to be hereafter her indispensable adviser, or 
perhaps her not over-scrupulous confidant. To 
arrive at this noble object, you must first keep 
the poor affectionate mother out of the way, 
and then by the aid of highly cultivated talents, 
excite odious comparisons, and thus crush her 
natural influence over the husband. Nothing 
easier than that. You are young, beautiful, 
enticing. The husband is at every moment within 
the sphere of your seductions. He is weak ; you 
are cunning, hypocritical and persistent. Naturally 
enough, the head of the family is at last subdued 
and tyrannized over by a stranger, and he sacri- 
fices his wife and children and every thing in 
the house to the crafty creature who soon becomes 
his ruler. But, unfortunately. Mademoiselle, it some- 
times happens that the wives, though they can’t 
pretend to rival in charms, graces, or talents the 
governess that they pay, still get tired at last 
of such impudence and such pretensions, and 
put an end to them by a very simple proceed- 
ing. Some fine morning, or still better, some 
fine evening, they say to the governess, whose 
odious projects are just detected : ‘ Mademoiselle 
O’Connor, this is my house ! ’ ” and Madame De 
Morville, arrived at the highest paroxysm of anger, 
pointing to the door with an insulting gesture, 
screamed out to Miss Mary : ‘‘ Mademoiselle 

O’Connor, this is my house, and I order 


Stop, Madame ! cried the young girl in a tone 
at once so imperious and imposing that Madame De 
Morville could not finish her sentence ; not a word 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, $15 

more, Madame, for your own sake, not for mine ; 
for /am beyond the reach of your worst insults.’* 

For my own sake!” exclaimed Madame De 
Morville; ‘‘what do you mean. Mademoiselle ? Is 
this a menace ? ’ ’ 

“No, Madame, it is a prayer; I want to leave 
your house with the affection of your family and 
with yoitr esteem yes, Madame, with your esteem 1 
That is why I beg you not to yield too hastily to a 
violent burst of temper which you would bitterly 
regret when too late. That is why I want you to 
hear me.” 

“ My esteem ! mine ! Why, you must think me 
either very foolish or very cowardly, Mademoiselle 
O’Connor. My esteem 1 Esteem 7^/^, that brought 
misfortune and desolation into the family from the 
very day you came here, when my children were 
disinherited by their uncle, up to this very moment 
when you rob me of my husband’s affection 1 ” 

“You accuse me, Madame, of robbing you of your 
husband’s affection, and wanting to rule in your 
house ? Very well. Here is my answer. Before a 
quarter of an hour you shall see the carriage, which 
M. De Morville has kindly placed at my orders, 
come here to take me to Tours, whence I shall start 
to-morrow for England.” 

“You start for England!” exclaimed Madame 
De Morville, overcome with astonishment. — Then 
she added : “ No ! it is a lie, a snare ! ” 

“Louise ! ” said M. De Morville, “an hour ago, 
at the request of Miss Mary, I sent an order to the 
coachman to bring a carriage here. It will be at 
the park gate in a few moments.” 


sm 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


Madame De Morville, whose anger now had no- 
thing to grasp at, was completely disconcerted at 
this information. 

^^Now, Madame, I can confess,” said the gover- 
ness, that my presence in your family has occa- 
sioned misfortunes which I profoundly regret, for I 
have been their involuntary cause.” 

^‘Involuntary or not,” exclaimed Madame De 
Morville, “you’ve brought ill luck here; you are no 
‘godsend,’ as, two years ago, I said to M. De Mor- 
ville, who then, no doubt in anticipation, already 
took your part against me.” 

“ Madame, in thus acting, M. De Morville only 
yielded to a natural feeling of justice. Was it right 
to make me responsible for misfortunes of which I 
am only, as I said before, the involuntary cause? ” 

“ Who, then, is to bear the burden of such 
responsibility ? ’ ’ 

“ I have not forced you to ask that question, 
Madame. But it belongs to my dignity and my 
duty to reply to it. In the first place, however, 
permit me to observe that I do not believe in 
‘ lucky ’ or ‘ unlucky ’ persons, or in any unpleasant 
fatality connected with my presence or my person.” 

“ Still the facts are there. Mademoiselle. Unhap- 
pily for us, their existence cannot be questioned.” 

“Yes, Madame, the facts exist. Only I believe 
that my presence in another family would not have 
produced them. Allow me, Madame, to finish, if 
you please,” added Miss Mary, in reply to an impa- 
tient gesture of Madame De Morville. “Do you 
think that, with all the pretended ill luck insepara- 
ble from me, if I had entered a family where each 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


317 


one strictly observed his own serious duties, where 
certain incompatibilities of taste and amusement 
between the master and the mistress of the house, 
instead of being allowed to develop and to widen 
more and more every day without hindrance, had 
been restrained and tamed down by recollecting that 
a good example should be given to the children and 
a vigilant solicitude maintained over them — in such 
a family as that, Madame, would these misfortunes 
have occurred, for which I must now bear the 
blame ? ’ ' 

‘‘Mademoiselle gives us a lecture then — to me, for 
neglecting my duties as a mother, and to you. Mon- 
sieur, for neglecting your duties as a father ! 

“And Mademoiselle O’Connor is right,” replied 
M. De Morville, in a serious tone. “ I have been 
wrong in yielding to my lonely habits, and, instead 
of refusing your frequent offers to share in my soli- 
tary pursuits, I should have accepted them. With a 
few mutual concessions, I might have sacrificed a 
little more to the world, and you a little less. In- 
stead of remaining entire months apart from each 
other, abandoning ourselves to the kind of life we 
preferred, and giving, it must be acknowledged, only 
secondary attention to the education of our children, 
we should have constantly surrounded our children 
with our cares, and then perhaps we would not have 
to reproach ourselves, as alas ! we now must ’ ’ 

“Excuse me for interrupting you, sir,” said Miss 
Mary, quickly, “ far from me be every idea of useless 
recrimination. I only wanted you to convince Ma- 
dame De Morville that with all her good sense and 
all her good heart, she was still rather unjust in 


$IS the CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 

believing in any ill luck attached to my presence in 
this house.’* 

‘‘ All I know, Mademoiselle, is that we were per- 
fectly quiet and happy before you came here,” said 
Madame De Morville, bitterly, and that now you 
go away leaving us in grief and trouble. ’ ’ 

‘‘Ah, Madame ! the most miserable day of my life 
would be that on which I left your family with the 
sad conviction on my mind that my name should 
never be mentioned in your house without anger.” 

“Oh! Mademoiselle, that’s all very fine, no 
doubt, but it’s only eloquence after all. I’m willing 
to acknowledge that from what I have just learned, 
you appear to have been slandered with regard to M. 
De Morville : but still it is no less true that my 
children have been disinherited by their uncle, that 
my daughter is dying by inches, and that my son is 
so much changed that his own father could scarcely 
recognize him.” 

“One word more, Madame. You brought me 
here to complete your daughter’s education. Now, 
I address myself to your honor. Have I done my 
duty?” 

“ My Heavens I Mademoiselle ! I say the good as 
well as the bad. Yes, you have improved Alphon- 
sine, even far beyond our utmost expectations. But 
that is not the question.” 

“ Still, Madame, it was for that purpose alone that 
I entered your house. Therefore, I could justly 
reply that, having done my duty on that score. I’m 
exempt from all reproach. But that would not be 
enough to satisfy myself, Madame, and I now repeat, 
that I don’t wish to leave grief and trouble behind 


'OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. S19 

me ; for, Madame, I can never forget the kindness of 
my reception in your house/* 

Once more. Mademoiselle, these are only fine 
words, and merely fine words can’t prevent my 
children from being disinherited by their uncle ! ” 

‘‘Monsieur De Botardiere will change his hasty 
resolution, Madame. I can almost promise it.” 

“ You, Mademoiselle ? ” 

“Yes, Madame.” 

Madame De Morville shrugged her shoulders with 
an ironical smile, and added : — 

“And of course, you’ll cure my daughter, too, by 
enchantment ? ” 

“ I hope so, Madame, for her cure is already com- 
menced. This is the reason that when begging you 
just now to restrain your insulting expressions, and 
assuring you that I wanted to depart with your affec- 
tion and esteem, I said nothing but the truth. And 
that affection and esteem I’m sure you will hardly 
refuse me, from the moment that peace and happi- 
ness are once more restored to your family.” 

“ Oh ! to be sure ; of course,” said Madame De 
Morville, sourly and doubtingly ; “but in the mean- 
time, I see no reason for blessing the chance that 
ever brought you here. Mademoiselle.” 

The abrupt entrance of Madame Pivolet, followed 
by John Welsh, prevented further conversation. 
The housekeeper, addressing Miss Mary, said to her 
with a bustling and important air : 

“ Mademoiselle, everything is ready. The car- 
riage is at the end of the avenue. I have put into 
it all your things, particularly your muff, your 
shawls and your cloak, for the night will be very 


2^0 the CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 

cold, Mademoiselle. Your trunk is nicely strapped 
up behind, but your carpet bag is inside, and it con- 
tains everything that was lying around in your room. 
Oh ! nothing is forgotten, I promise you, my dear 
young lady.” 

‘‘Miss Mary,” said M. De Morville in a feeling 
but restrained tone, “you wish to leave us and we 
respect your wish ; but leave us at least with the 
hope of seeing you again.” 

“I don’t know, sir; but I hope, before quitting 
France, that I shall fulfil the promise I have just 
now had the honor to make to Madame De Mor- 
ville.” 

With these words she saluted that lady with 
a deep courtesy. Madame De Morville, yielding 
to a return of her good nature, was on the point 
of begging Miss Mary to wait at least till morn- 
ing, but soon overcome by her pride and spleen, 
she replied only by a hasty nod to the “Good- 
bye” of the governess, whom M. De Morville 
gazed on with almost a broken heart, as she went 
out calm, dignified and self-possessed, followed by 
John Welsh and the housekeeper. 

Whilst Miss Mary hastened down the avenue 
leading to the gate of the park, where she could 
already see the two lighted lamps of the carriage, 
the housekeeper followed her, saying to herself in 
triumphant glee : 

“At last, my Belle Anglais e^ you are driven 
away in disgrace, and it’s all my doings. But 
that’s little to what awaits you on the banks of 
the ^ Pond of the Shrieking Woman A Daddy Chenot 
and his crew are on the watch to give you a warm 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. S21 

reception, the light of the lamps will give notice 
of the carriage, Joseph won’t interfere, and as to 
your Islander of an Englishman, what can he do 
one to six? ” 

Just as she got into the carriage. Miss Mary asked 
the driver : 

‘‘ Joseph, how far is it from here to Lo- 
ches ? ” 

‘‘About an hour’s journey. Mademoiselle.” 

“ And from Loches to the Chateau Botar- 
diere? ” 

“ Not more than a few leagues. Mademoi- 
selle.” 

“If I stop at the hotel of Loches to-night, 
can I find there a carriage to take me to-mor- 
row morning to the Chateau Botardiere?” 

“Certainly, Mademoiselle. The Hotel de la 
Tour has a first-rate livery stable.” 

“Then, if you please, Joseph, instead of Tours, 
drive me to Loches.” 

“Yes, Mademoiselle,” said the driver, as John 
Welsh took a seat by his side. 

“What!!” screamed the housekeeper, as she 
saw the carriage disappearing rapidly in the 
distance, “she’s going to Loches! ! Then they’ll 
not pass by the road where Daddy Ch^not is 
expecting them ! oh ! must the infernal, con- 
founded, doubly, trebly cursed Anglaise escape from 
me after all ! ! ” 

Rendered perfectly crazy and regardless of 
consequences by the thought that her victim would 
escape the well-contrived plot which had been 
for nearly two years the continual subject of 


S22 THE CHAtEAU MORVJLLE: 

her thoughts by day and her dreams by night, 
the wicked creature rushed back to the stable, 
and ordered her creature Jean to get another 
carriage at once and drive her to the place of 
ambush on the road to Tours. Her idea was to 
send her myrmidons by a short cut across the 
country, which could easily be done, to a forest 
through which Miss Mary should pass on her way 
to Loches. 

The result can be readily guessed. Daddy Chenot 
and his crew, seeing a carriage come from the 
expected direction, and not being able to recognize 
the housekeeper in the dark, knocked her senseless 
with blows, dragged her out of the vehicle by the 
hair of the head, kicked her and cuffed her, and 
flung her into the water. Indeed, they would proba- 
bly have killed her outright only for the poAverful 
bodily strength of Jean, who, at last, succeeded in 
rescuing her from their hands, though even then 
he had the greatest difficulty in convincing the 
infuriated, ignorant creatures, that their victim 
was Madame Pi volet, and not the ‘‘pestilent hag’’ 
they had been expecting. As it was, the house- 
keeper escaped with her life, but till her dying day 
her body bore the marks, and her soul ever shud- 
dered at the thoughts, of the terrible hour she had 
passed on the gloomy banks of the Pond of the 
Shrieking WomanP 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, 


S^S 


CHAPTER Vlir. 

THE LION BEARDED IN HIS DEN. 

The Chateau Bolardiere, lying in the heart of the 
desolate table lands extending towards St. Maure, 
with its dark walls and gray shutters, its moat filled 
with stagnant water, its silent courtyard, and its 
great rusty iron gate nearly always shut, looks drea- 
rier and more inhospitable than ever this gloomy 
morning in February, but, however uninviting, it is 
the point to which the scene of our story now shifts. 

Our old friend. Monsieur De Botardiere, is seated 
in an arm chair near the fire-place, reading his 
favorite paper, the Journal des Debats. An old 
screen, forming a half circle in the middle of a large 
room with gray wainscoting, protects the eccentric 
old man from the icy currents that make their way 
in through four ill jointed, old fashioned windows, 
with small panes, and muslin curtains whose original 
color have once probably been yellow. Wearing an 
old whitey-brown suit of padded swanskin, his head 
wrapped in an old silk handkerchief, through the 
folds of which here and there sprouts up an occa- 
sional tuft of hair, white and thin, but still stiff 

As the bristles of the fretful porcupine,’* 

the old gentleman enjoys his fireside stretch the more 
comfortably as his feet are sheltered from the too 
great heat by big, thick, felt boots, very hairy out- 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE. 


side and lined inside with cotton-wool. Thus seated 
in his soft arm-chair, toasting his toes on’ the and- 
irons, and dozing over his newspaper, he luxuriates 
as usual in the delights of his old-bachelorhood. At 
last, his thoughts begin to express themselves in 
words. • 

‘^It is true,’* says he, that this kind of a life is 
not enormously amusing. My days are long ; my 
evenings never come to an end ; and as for my 
nights, I don’t know how I ever get through them. 
Still, isn’t it fine to think one is all alone with him- 
self, the most congenial and indulgent company in 
the world ; that nobody will come to put you in bad 
humor ; that no pack of visitors will alight on you 
to feed on you like leeches, and to bore you to death 
besides with their interminable twaddle. In short, 
you live as you like, according to your own taste, 
going out and coming in when you please, no trouble 
to anybody and nobody a trouble to you ! When 
my nephew used to come here with his family, or 
when I went to Morville, it was a little livelier, I 
must acknowledge. It was not seldom that I had 
even a right good time. I could say what I pleased, 
and I did say what I pleased to everybody, and no 
one dared to talk back to me. That’s a pleasure to 
be met with only at the houses of relations who have 
a respect for your gray hair ; for, elsewhere how 
shockingly they treat a man for only telling them 
the plain simple truth ! What snappish, disrespectful 
answers they give you, vexatious enough to disgust 
you forever with sincerity ! But at Morville, I could 
scold and grumble and growl, and growl and grum- 
ble and scold, over and over again, and there was 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $25 

nobody ever to say me nay ! But what a fool I am 
to regret such people, ungrateful, covetous wretches ! 
How delightful it is to say : They are now raging, 
furious at being disinherited ! Not a day passes that 
they do not think on the lost fortune with bitter re- 
gret. Besides, when I visited them, I always exposed 
myself to receive a visit from them or from somebody 
else in return — a surprise, as they called it. Now, 
if there’s one thing under the sun that I detest more 
than another, it is a surprise visit. But, thanks be 
to God! I’m now delivered from such plagues and 
persecutions forever.” 

M. De Botardiere had hardly uttered this daring 
renunciation of the world and its troubles, when he 
was startled by the shrill whistle of the porter down 
stairs, the signal that still, as in the old time, always 
announced a visitor. 

He rose in his chair, threw down his paper, knit- 
ted his brows, and roared out in a loud voice : — 

Has any one the presumption to intrude himself 
here without writing for permission ? ’ ’ 

Ambrose, the domestic, as old and as crotchety as 
his master, and as deaf as a post besides, now shuf- 
fled himself into the room, and put his head over the 
screen, saying : — 

‘‘ Sir, it is a visitor.” 

‘‘I’m not at home! I receive no visitors to- 
aay ! ” exclaimed the old gentleman, ensconcing 
himself resolutely in his arm-chair. 

“ Sir, it is a young lady,” said Ambrose, who had 
not heard a word that his master said, “a young 
English lady.” 

“ An English lady ! ” 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 


S2G 

‘‘And she comes from the Chateau Morville.** 

“ English — and she comes from the Chateau Mor- 
ville ! ” repeated M. De Botardiere, surprised and 
exceedingly angry, “ Oh ! it is impossible ! so much 
presumption is clearly impossible/’ 

“And her name,” continued Ambrose, “is Miss 
Mary.” 

“The adventuress ! my persecutor during that in- 
fernal journey from Calais to Paris ! ” exclaimed the 
old gentleman, starting from his seat. “ Drive her 
out of the house at once, and set the dogs after 
her ! ’ ’ 

“ Oh ! she’s not gone, sir; there’s no need of run- 
ning after her,” said the old servant, turning around 
and making for the door, thinking that he had un- 
derstood his master’s words. 

“Ambrose ! ” cried the old gentleman, “ listen to 
me, you deaf old rascal ! I don’t want you to ” 

“Yes, yes, sir! I understand you perfectly,” cried 
Ambrose, disappearing, and his master had not half 
finished his volley, when he was again heard at the 
door, crying out : 

“Enter, enter. Mademoiselle; Master is inside 
and very impatient to see you.” 

In a moment he had pushed aside one of the 
leaves of the screen, and M. De Botardiere found 
himself face to face with Miss Mary. She was the 
first to speak. 

“I hope, sir,” said she, “you will excuse my visit 
as soon as you know the motive that compels me to 
make it.” 

“ There can be no motive, Mademoiselle, for a 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S27 


visit so uncalled for, so presumptuous, so audacious, 

so provoking, so ’ ’ 

There, that’s the very word, sir, provoking,'*' 
interrupted Miss Mary with a merry smile. ‘‘I’m 
come to provoke, stir up, and call out all the gener- 
osity in your hearty sir. And I’m pretty certain you 
will reply creditably to my challenge. ’ ’ 

“You’re very much mistaken then. Mademoiselle. 
I’m not a bit generous, never was, and don’t intend 
to be. I should like, indeed, to know when you ever 
saw any signs of my generosity.” 

“ Oh ! that is the same as saying you’re not alive 
at all, simply because you live so retired that those 
who love and respect you can no longer see you. But 
I know better. I want to believe, and I do believe in 
the goodness of your heart. Is that a great crime ! ” 
Miss Mary uttered these words so archly and grace- 
fully, she looked so beautiful and charming that, in 
spite of his moroseness. Monsieur De Botardiere 
could not help remarking that her very presence 
seemed to light up his cheerless, solitary den. Still, 
struggling apprehensively against such a thought, he 
answered in a surly, snapping manner : 

“Mademoiselle, I don’t like talking, especially 
talking with a woman. You’ve got into my house, 
I don’t know how. What do you want? ” 

“Oh! my dear sir, nothing but what you’ll find 
as easy as kiss hand. I only want you to be friends 
once more with your family.” 

“Indeed 1 ” exclaimed the astounded old gentle- 
man, hatdly able to believe he had h^ard right. But 
suppressing for a moment his rising wrath, he added : 
“ However, it is very well expressed, I like the style. 


$2S 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE: 


it is so clear, and right to the point. Others would 
have approached such an outrageous proposition by- 
circumlocutions and other oratorical resources, but 


‘^Oh! I,” interrupted Miss Mary, smiling, ^^in 
my character of an unfledged lawyer, relying on the 
goodness of my cause and the justice of my judge, 
knowing besides, that there are certain strong com- 
mon sense natures not to be imposed on by mere 
words, I hit the nail right on the head at once.** 
‘‘Better and better! So you* re really come, 
Mademoiselle, to ask me to be friends once more 
with my nephew and his family? ** 

“Yes, sir.** 

“And also (since you have commenced so well), 
to ask me to leave them my property after my 
death?** 

“ Of course, sir.** 

“ Of course 1 Ah 1 you consider it a matter of 
course. Mademoiselle. Phew ! * * Then bursting 
into a fit of ironical laughter, he added : “ Good I I 
like a joke at times myself, and I must say it is a first- 
rate joke indeed to hear a detestable cause argued by 
an advocate ** 

“ Just as detestable,** said Miss Mary with a merry 
laugh, interrupting the old man “But then you 
know, sir, equity don*t require the judge to love the 
lawyer — only to listen to him.** 

“Oh! talk away, talk away. Only remember 
what you have just said, and indeed said very truly, 
that there are certain strong common sense, charac- 
ters not to be imposed on by mere words. Now Pm 
one of them I Remember that ! * * 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S29 


In spite of this triumphant assertion, however, the 
old gentleman had begun to perceive, that his ear, 
so long accustomed only to the harsh, grating tones 
of old Ambrose and the other servants, felt a very 
decided pleasure in listening to the sweet, fresh, sil- 
very accents of the young girl. But he was still as 
determined as ever to show himself intractable, 
though he did not see any harm in listening to the 
harmony of the charming voice, and accordingly he 
continued : 

‘^I’m listening. Mademoiselle, Tm in fact curious 
to know how you’re going to commence. Perhaps, 
to create a favorable impression on the judge, you 
will open the discourse with an allusion to that infer- 
nal journey from Calais.” 

‘‘ If I did allude to it, sir, it would be simply to 
express my regret, my sincere regret, at not having 
thought of placing myself under your protection 
during the journey.” 

‘‘ What an idea ! ” 

If I, a stranger, unprotected, and a woman, had 
addressed myself to your courtesy as a Frenchman, 
and your humanity as a Christian, would you have 
refused me ? ” 

I don’t know anything at all about it.” 

Ah ! you don’t say you would, and you’re right, 
for, in spite of your whims and freaks, often unjust, 
your heart is still sound and good.” 

‘^Oh! humbug. Don’t think such stuff as that 
shall fool me.” 

‘‘ It is stuff to say your heart is good ! ” 

Of course it is.” 


S30 


THE CHATEAU MORVILLE: 


Didn’t you once love, didn’t you once tenderly 
love your sister? ” 

Oh ! hei'y yes,” replied the old man, yielding to 
an involuntary emotion. Oh ! yes, I did love her, 
tenderly love her. ’ ’ 

I believe you, sir. Your emotion tells it plainly 
enough. ’ ’ 

Emotion ! Mademoiselle, what are you talking 
about? ” hastily answered the old gentleman, afraid 
she was gaining some advantage over him. ‘^No- 
thing like emotion about me, never was — I’m not 
one of that kind.” 

Why deny it ? ” 

Oh ! I see what you’re at. You would con- 
clude that since I tenderly loved my sister, I should 
also love my nephew, with his wife and children. 
But, by Jove ! that’s quite a different thing ! Love 
ingrates, harpies, that never think of anything but 
how soon I shall drop off and how much I’ll leave 
them ! ” 

Sir, these words are wrong; they are unjust, un- 
warranted and unreasonable ! ’ ’ 

‘^Mademoiselle ! this is the first time any one ever 

took the liberty to tell me ” 

“ The truth, sir. Perhaps it is, but you see it is 
my way, and I can’t help it. However, have the 
kindness to answer this question. — What was the 
cause of your rupture with your nephew ? My arrival 
at the chateau, wasn’t it? ” 

Certainly.” 

“ If they had consented not to receive me as 
governess, you would not have broken off with 
them?” 


OR, LIFE IN TO UR AIN E. 


SSI 

‘‘In a word, it was my presence alone at the 
chateau that prevented you from returning there?’* 
“Yes, Mademoiselle — yes ! ” . 

“Then, sir, there is nothing to keep you any 
longer from yielding to the dearest wishes of your 
family. I have left the Chateau Morville forever.” 

“ What ! you’re governess there no longer ? ” 
“No longer, sir; but, one word more. You 
blame M. De Morville for the greediness which, as 
you say, makes him covet your inheritance. But, 
if this were the case, if M. De Morville and his wife 
had really been venal, mercenary creatures, would 
they have hesitated a moment about sacrificing me, 
when you told them that if they did not do so they 
should be disinherited ? ’ ’ 

“But what does all that prove! That they pre- 
ferred to persist stubbornly and obstinately in their 
own way of thinking, rather than by yielding a little, 
to come in for my inheritance ! ’ ’ 

“ Ah 1 now, sir, we are beginning to understand 
each other. Your nephew and his wife then are no 
longer mere greedy, selfish creatures, but people who 
persisted stubbornly and obstinately in their own way 
of thinking, as you say ; in other words, who refused 
to drive out of their house, without listening to a 
word of explanation, a poor young foreigner girl 
who, in exchange for the education which she came 
to give their child, asked in return from them bread, 
sir ; yes, sir, bread to keep from starvation an old 
father and mother and four young sisters, that she 
had left behind her in a distant land with the pious 
hope of being able to render their misfortunes less 


THE CHA TEA U MOR VILLE ; 

intolerable. Now, sir, speak, added Miss Mary 
with a most touching voice that deeply affected M. 
De Botardiere in spite of himself, ‘‘speak and say if 
Monsieur and Madame De Morville, by being simply 
just towards me, have deserved ill of you ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle, if that was the state of things, I 
acknowledge indeed But recovering him- 

self, and making a new effort to shake off the charm 
of Miss Mary’s presence and words, the old man 
added roughly — “ But why didn’t my nephew and 
niece tell me all about that story ? ’ ’ 

“They sent their children to you, sir, but you 
would not see them. After such a reception, what 
could your niece and nephew do? You suspected 
them of covetousness, and their dignity, of course, 
prevented them from taking very active measures for 
a reconciliation. You would see in everything only 
a venal purpose.” 

“I don’t deny it — but still ” 

“ One word more, sir. You acknowledge that 
in refusing to yield to your request, your relatives 
were actuated by an honorable sentiment. Un- 
fortunately, my person, my presence was odious to 
you. ’ ’ 

“ Odious ! odious ! oh ! Mademoiselle, the expres- 
sion is too strong.” 

“ Well, displeasing, if you like that better.” 

“Displeasing! still too strong. Mademoiselle!” 

“ Disagreeable, troublesome, unpleasant, that’s 
the word, isn’t it ? ” 

“Not at all. Mademoiselle, not at all! I assure 
you ! ’ ’ 

“Well, anyway I’ve left the Chateau Morville 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $88 

for ever. Now, why should you struggle any 
longer against the generous sentiment that at- 
tracts you to your own flesh and blood, who have 
always surrounded you with love and the deepest 
respect ? ’ ’ 

‘^What! you think me weak enough to wish to 
ever see the ingrates again ? * * 

I think, sir, that not a day passes that you 
don’t say to yourself: — ^Ah! what fine times I 
used to have when I went to the Chateau Morville ! 
To be sure I was often a little rough there, 
and growled occasionally, but all my grumbling 
did not prevent me from having a good heart at 
bottom, and it deprived me of no one’s affec- 
tion. They always received me there with 
as much warm cordiality as deferential respect.’ 
And they were right in doing so, sir, for M. De 
Morville looked on this grumbler as the brother 
of a sainted mother, and on the sole condition 
of letting them love and respect you, you had 
the right to grumble and growl as much as ever 

you pleased ” 

Mademoiselle, permit me ” 

‘‘ Oh ! no, no ! to such a sweet domestic happi- 
ness you cannot possibly prefer an oppressive, 
stupifying loneliness! Don’t deny it, sir! I 
know you regret heartily those old friendly terms 
which the affectionate deference of M. De Mor- 
ville and his wife and children rendered so 
delightful. Now, sir, be sincere. What kind of 
an existence do you lead here? A cold, dead, 
cheerless, monotonous life, without attraction for 
the heart, without a charm for the head. Dis- 


THE CHAtEAU M ORVILLE; 


contented with yourself and others, your best 
days - are those when nothing disturbs your 
melancholy gloom. Leave such a morose and 
solitary existence to those whom an unhappy fate 
has deprived of the ineffable joys of domestic 
life. Make the most of them yourself, and don’t 
be so ungrateful to the dear kind God that has 
given you the opportunity ! ’ ’ 

The old gentleman had listened to Miss Mary with 
increasing emotion : her grace, her candor, her 
judgment, her good temper, and particularly her 
remarkable beauty, were making an impression 
upon him as profound as it was sudden and un- 
expected. 

^^Mademoiselle,” he all at once exclaimed, after 
a few moments’ reflection, ‘‘will you answer my 
questions sincerely ? ” 

“I cannot answer them otherwise, sir.” 

“I’m no fool, I know my nephew, and, what- 
ever the grounds for my complaints against him 
may be, I acknowledge that he is a man of 
excellent judgment. I had against you a very 
strong prejudice, I also acknowledge ; if my nephew 
kept you two years in his house as governess, of 
course such prejudice must be groundless. Besides, 
I’ve heard from other sources that you have made 
my niece quite an accomplished young lady.” 

“I hope you will soon have an opportunity of 
judging for yourself, sir.” 

“ That’s not the question. Why do you 
leave them ? Miss Mary, you are sincere. — 
Speak to me then, I beg of you, without dis- 
guise. ’ ’ 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S35 


I left the chateau, sir, for two reasons : first, 
because Alphonsme’s education is nearly com- 
pleted : second, because ” 

‘‘You hesitate. Second, because they have not 
treated you as you deserved. Isn’t that it ? ” 

“Sir ” 

“They rendered you unhappy; I suspected as 
much.” 

“ Sir, have the kindness to hear me.” • 

“ No, but do you have the kindness to listen 
to me. Mademoiselle ! ’ ’ cried the old man, getting 
angry. “Ah ! they persecuted you, did they? 
I’m not surprised at it: just like them. But no 
matter, you just be said and led by me, and, if 
you like, you shall be fully revenged on them, and 
I too.” 

“ Sir, I don’t quite understand you.” 

“Miss Mary, I take you to be an honorable and 
well-conducted young woman.” 

“I try to be so at least.” 

“You have no fortune ? ” 

“No, sir.” 

“You love your dear family?” 

“ Oh ! with all my heart and soul ! ” 

“You would be delighted to see them all, father, 
mother, and sisters, happy and comfortable ? ’ ’ 

“It is the dearest wish of my heart.” 

“ Well, Miss Mary, you have it in your power 
to secure their happiness and your own, and you 
shall have, into the bargain, the pleasure of being 
revenged on my rascally nephew and his family, 
who did not know how to treat you with proper 
respect.” 


336 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


Indeed, sir, I assure you 

^‘Miss Mary!^* exclaimed the old gentleman, 
casting a dissatisfied look on his suit of swan-skin, 

I know I can never make you comprehend my 
arguments in the present state of my toilet. I know 
I’m a perfect fright just now. — Give me time to 
get shaved and fixed up a little, and then in- 
deed ” 

Interrupting himself, he ran to the door and cried 
out : 

Ambrose ! Ambrose ! go wait for me in my 
bed-chamber. ’ ’ 

Then he ran back towards the governess, who 
could make nothing of his extraordinary movements, 
saying ; 

‘‘Excuse me. Miss Mary, if I leave you by 
yourself; I’ll return in a quarter of an hour, and 
then,” he added with a triumphant air, “I shall 
explain myself categorically!” and having em- 
phasized the adverb in a way that he thought 
quite significant, he rushed out of the room, 
crying : 

“ Ambrose ! Ambrose 1 he don’t hear me — the 
deaf old rascal 1 ” 

Miss Mary was astonished at this precipitate 
departure. 

“I don’t understand his words at all,” said 
she to herself; “Where is he gone? Why 
leave me alone in this strange house? I’m sorry 
I did not tell him that I had written to Henry 
O’Reilly to call here for me, and that I expect 
him now at any moment. In spite of myself, I 
am very much in dread of some new freak of M. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. SSI 

De Favrolle’s, so I don’t think I have infringed 
too much on M. De Botardiere’s hospitality by 
appointing his house as a place for meeting with 
my natural protector.” 

At this moment she heard the clatter of a horse’s 
hoofs on the pavement of the courtyard. 

“ ’Tis he ! ’Tis Henry ! ” she exclaimed. ‘‘ He 
has taken a horse, and preceded the carriage, so as 
to be here sooner.” 

And, never doubting that it was her future hus- 
band, from whom she had been separated more 
than three years, her heart beat so violently, she 
felt herself so overcome, that she could not advance 
a step, though she heard somebody hastily coming 
up stairs, who she was certain could only be Henry 
O’Reilly. ^ 

What was her stupefaction then, when, in place 
of her dearest friend, so impatiently expected, she 
saw M. De Favrolle enter the room, deathly pale, 
exhausted, but resolute, his clothes covered with 
mud, announcing that he had just taken a long and 
desperate ride on horseback I 


S33 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


CHAPTER IX. 

MORE VISITORS AT THE DEN. 

Miss Mary, as terribly disappointed in her expec-' 
tation as she was frightened at M. De Favrolle’s 
sudden arrival, felt herself suddenly becoming faint, 
and was hardly able to utter a. slight shriek of terror. 
De Favrolle advanced, cool and resolute, saying : — 
‘‘At last. Mademoiselle, I have found you after a 
night spent in a most laborious and painful search. 
Some accident had b^allen the housekeeper, and the 
other servants thought you had started for Tours. 
Your move was rather a brilliant one, but you see I 
have checkmated you. Don’t be alarmed, however. 
In spite of a little natural irritation, I shall never 
fail in the least particle of the respect that is your 
due. But the more courteous and respectful you 
find me, the more determined shall you find me also 
with regard to the project already announced to you, 
and which no human power shall now prevent me 
from fully carrying out.” 

Miss Mary, overwhelmed at this unexpected blow, 
lost all courage, fell on the chair, and murmured in 
a voice interrupted by tears : — 

“Ah! sir, if you only knew how much I suffer, 
indeed you would pity me ! ” 

“Good Heaven, Mademoiselle, I am neither a 
tyrant nor a scoundrel 1 In the house we were in 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S30 


yesterday, some point of honor, I know not what, 
prevented you from listening to me. But here you 
are free. I want to know my fate then. For I as- 
sure you I shall never lose sight of you until it is 
irrevocably decided, and no human interference ’ ’ 

Miss Mary started ; a shudd^ shot through her 
like lightning. She heard a carriage in the yard. 
This time there could be no doubt of it, — it was 
Henry O’Reilly. The thought of the terrible mis- 
fortunes that might spring from a meeting between 
two such men on such an occasion, deprived her of 
her reason for a few moments. When she came to 
herself she saw Henry O’Reilly’s calm and manly 
face as he entered the room, introduced, not by 
Ambrose, but by another servant, who was, no 
doubt, greatly astonished at such an extraordinary 
number of visitors at the gloomy Chateau Botardiere. 

Miss Mary could not repress a faint cry at the 
sight of her lover: her swimming eyes were fixed 
with tenderness and anguish on that fine, grave 
countenance which had been so long and so far away 
from her sight. Walking up to her all the way, for 
she was unable to move a step. Major O’Reilly 
stretched out his two hands, into which the young 
girl let hers fall without saying a word, while the 
silent tears coursed each other down her cheeks. 

M. De Favrolle had been a surprised spectator of 
this unexpected scene, and now made a slight move- 
ment. The Major, turning around, perceived him 
for the first time, and, slightly disconcerted at having 
let his emotion be witnessed by a third party, he 
stepped back, and by a graceful and respectful salute, 
endeavored to atone as well as he could for his in- 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE; 


S4O 

voluntary forgetfulness. Then, pointing to Miss 
Mary, he said simply and earnestly: — 

‘‘ Sir, it is the first time in three years that I have 
seen my dear young friend and countrywoman. 
Mademoiselle Mary O’Connor. I hope then, sir, 
that you will kinctly excuse me for not having 
remarked your presence sooner,” and he bowed 
once more. 

M. De Favrolle, assured that a military man, and 
a rival to boot, stood before him, returned the bow 
with much ceremony, and stammered a few of those 
insignificant phrases that we never finish when we 
wish to be polite without exactly knowing what to 
say. 

Miss Mary had regarded the gestures of the two 
young men with anxiety, and she now half thought 
she could, by a bold step on her part, avert the 
threatening danger. Starting up then, she advanced 
a few paces towards M. De Favrolle, saying to him 
as she pointed at Henry : 

Sir, I have the honor to present to you Major 
Henry O’Reilly. He had been affianced to me in 
happier times ; and as he has continued to love me 
in spite of the misfortunes that have overwhelmed 
my family, he now comes to take me to Ireland to 
marry me there with my father’s blessing.” 

‘‘To whom have I the honor of being intro- 
duced? ” asked the Major of Miss Mary. 

“Monsieur De Favrolle,” replied the governess, 
“ the son of an old friend of Monsieur De Mor- 
ville’s, whose daughter, my dear and esteemed pupil, 
he is shortly going to marry.” 

“Mademoiselle,” said De Favrolle, pale with 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $^1 

vexation and resentment, since you have defined 
so clearly your relations towards this gentleman, I 
can do no less than define with equal clearness mine 
towards you.** Then he added, turning to the 
Major: ^^For a while, sir, it is true, I was the ac- 
cepted suitor of Mademoiselle De Morville, but in 
that family I met for the second time Miss Mary, 
with whom I had the honor of travelling, two years 

ago, from Calais to Paris, and ’* 

‘^What, sir, is it you!’* said O’Reilly, ^quickly 
interrupting him with a smile of cordial gratitude. 

It’s you that watched over Mademoiselle O’Con- 
nor with a brother’s solicitude during that long 
journey. Ah ! sir, how happy I am to have the 
opportunity of expressing the deep and lasting grati- 
tude of her family for your noble and delicate 

conduct. Permit me to take your hand ” 

With these words the Major extended his hand 
towards M. De Favrolle, but at this moment a loud 
and angry but smothered knocking at some door 
not far distant, which they had heard occasionally 
for some time past, and which sounded as if made 
by somebody locked up in a room and wanting to 
get out, became all at once so loud and so angry 
and accompanied with such violent roaring and 
stamping, that it attracted the attention of the three 
personages, and made them turn their heads for a 
moment towards the quarter whence the sound 
seemed to proceed. But such an incident could 
not long disturb their anxious and passionate emo- 
tions. Miss Mary had remarked with terror that, 
at the moment when the Major had so cordially 
offered his hand to M. De Favrolle, the latter, far 


3^^ THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 

from corresponding with such a friendly advance, 
had smiled in disdain, as he eyed O’Reilly from head 
to foot. The Major, however, had not noticed his 
rival’s insolent and aggressive attitude, having at the 
moment turned his head towards the noise. Still, 
sustained by a last faint glimmering of hope, as 
soon as all had recovered from the momentary dis- 
traction, Miss Mary said to her affianced : 

‘‘Oh! yes indeed, Henry, I shall never, never 
forget M. De Favrolle’s noble and generous con- 
duct towards a poor, unprotected stranger during 
that long journey.’* 

“Permit me, then, to take your hand, sir,” said 
the Major cordially, again offering his hand to M. 
De Favrolle, “and to express the gratitude of Miss 
Mary’s family and my own.” 

“Sir,” said M. De Favrolle with hauteur, draw- 
ing himself back with a supercilious movement, 
“before taking your hand I must first inform you 
of certain circumstances that were the consequence 
of that journey. When you have heard me, sir, you 
shall see, as I do, that the expression of any gratitude 
on your part is at least premature.” 

Miss Mary was again ready to faint at the coming 
danger that she now saw herself perfectly powerless 
to ward off. O’Reilly, very much surprised at De 
Favrolle’s answer, which he did not as yet look upon 
as a studied insult, questioned Miss Mary with a 
glance for an account of such conduct ; but, getting 
no reply, he said to De Favrolle with polished 
dignity : — 

“ It will be difficult for me, sir, and even painful. 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, S^S 

to believe that I was wrong in thanking you for your 
courtesy towards Mademoiselle O’Connor/^ 

‘‘ Sir,’* replied De Favrolle, Mademoiselle 
O’Connor has told you the truth. A project of 
marriage has been agreed upon between Mademoi- 
selle De Morville and me. But Mademoiselle 
O’Connor has not told you that, on finding her at 
the Chateau Morville, the warm and respectful love 
with which she had inspired me during that journey, 
was rekindled more strongly and violently than ever. 
Accordingly, I am decided on every extremity — 
you understand, sir, — I am decided on every ex- 
tremity to obtain Mademoiselle O’Connor’s hand.” 

Well, sir,” said the Major with perfect coolness, 
after listening to his rival with much attention, I 
only see in your words the proof of a sentiment very 
honorable to you and to Miss Mary. You love her?, 
I’m not surprised. I know it is hard to do anything 
else. You wish to marry her? That is still less 
surprising, as I have myself precisely the same wish. 
The only thing that remains to be known is, if Miss 
Mary will have you.” 

‘^Sir,” cried De Favrolle, more and more irritated 
with his rival’s easy, cool demeanor, love Miss 
Mary as deeply and as honorably as you do. My 
name is as good as yours. My position in the world 
is equal to yours. Therefore, I don’t see why you 
should be preferred to me.” 

As to that, sir,” said the Major, as cool and self- 
possessed as ever, still think you are perfectly 
right. Your courtesy towards Mademoiselle O’Con- 
nor during the journey proves that you are a gentle- 
man, and that your love for a young lady so worthy 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE ; 

of respect, cannot be otherwise than highly honor- 
able. As to your name and position in the world, 
they must be respectable, since Monsieur and Ma- 
dame De Morville consented to give you their 
daughter’s hand. Therefore, sir, our claims on Miss 
Mary’s affections are perfectly equal. Her choice is 
free — and she grants me the preference. This prefer- 
ence cannot possibly be considered offensive towards 
you, so I really don’t see why you have refused the 
hand I offered you, and offered you very cordially 
too, I assure you.” 

In France, sir,” cried De Favrolle, rendered 
completely beside himself by O’Reilly’s calm good 
sense, ^‘in France, sir, we never take a rival’s hand 
before we have crossed swords with him.” 

‘‘ Ah ! sir,” exclaimed Miss Mary, bursting into 
tears, ‘‘what have I done to deserve this cruelty?” 

Major O’Reilly endeavored by a gesture to calm 
her grief, and addressing himself to De Favrolle, 
said with cold dignity : 

“In France as in Ireland, sir, gentlemen never 
give light expression to serious words, particularly 
when such words unjustly pain a lady worthy of 
our highest respect.” 

This is what fell from his tongue, but his eye 
said still more plainly : 

“I am always at your orders, only don’t alarm 
Miss Mary.” 

Then, certain that he had been understood, he 
continued: — “I believe, as well as you, sir, that 
rivals who have serious reasons for enmity, may 
and should appeal to arms; but I am sure, sir, 
that, quite as anxious as myself to dispel the 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. Sj^5 

alarm of Mademoiselle O’Connor, who must have 
mistaken the meaning of your words, you unite 
with me in saying there is nothing whatever in 
our position to give rise to an issue which she 
seems to dread.” 

I fully agree with you, sir ; for I am equally 
desirous to give the young lady no unnecessary 
alarm,” answered De Favrolle, emphasizing his 
double-sensed phrase to show his rival that he had 
guessed and appreciated his secret thought. 

Miss Mary, recovering from her terrible fear, 
dried her tears and, in the exuberance of her joy, 
said to De Favrolle, in a voice trembling with 
emotion — 

‘‘Excuse me, sir, for having for a moment 
doubted your generous heart.” 

M. De Favrolle bowed, smiling with a con- 
strained air and only half concealing his anger, 
when the same knocking that had so often attracted 
their attention before, was now renewed with re- 
doubled noise and violence. 

“ Whoever is locked up there should be let out, 
I think,” said De Favrolle; but he had scarcely 
uttered the words, the noise only becoming still 
louder, when the door of the apartment was sud- 
denly flung open, and Alphonsine and Gerard 
hastily rushed into the room. 

The young girl looked around for an instant for 
her governess, then in a moment she was in her 
arms, exclaiming: 

“ Oh ! here she is ! here she is ! the dear good 
Miss Mary ! Thank God, we can at least bid her 
good bye ! ” 


S4G 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 


CHAPTER X. 

ALPHONSINE. 

At the sight of Alphonsine, and thinking on his 
position towards Miss Mary and Major O’Reilly, 
De Favrolle had felt his situation to be so false 
and so painful, that, almost in spite of himself, he 
slipped immediately behind the screen, and thus 
in a moment completely escaped the eyes of Gerard 
and his sister. 

Without remarking the Major’s presence, Al- 
phonsine still remained in the arms of her gov- 
erness, embracing her tenderly, and saying — 

Oh, the bold, bad, wicked, naughty Miss ! 
to run off from us this way, without telling us one 
word of her intention ! ” 

It was only early this morning that on 
questioning Joseph,” added Gerard, ‘‘we learned 
that you had passed the night in the hotel at 
Loches. Alphonsine and I drove there immedi- 
ately, and we were told that you had taken a 
carriage to my uncle’s.” 

“And, of course, we followed you,” said Al- 
phonsine, “even at the risk of encountering uncle’s 
terrible resentment. But, now that I think of it, 
where then is that dear, awful uncle? I’m pre- 
pared for everything from his hands ” 

She did not finish, for she had just perceived 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 3p 

Major O’Reilly. She gazed at him in silence 
for a second or two, and then, giving Miss Mary 
a keen glance, she said with a bright smile : 

Oh ! that’s he, isn’t it ? ” 

Then advancing towards the affianced of her 
governess with the ease and grace that nearly 
always accompanies unaffected simplicity, she said : 

‘‘Sir, you don’t know me, but I know you and 
love you very much — ever since yesterday morn- 
ing,” she added with a meaning glance at her 
governess, “for yesterday morning I learned that 
it is on you depends all the happiness that our dear 
Miss Mary deserves.” 

Thus speaking, she gracefully offered her hand 
to O’Reilly, who kept it in his for a few moments, 
replying to her in a tone of mild gravity. 

“O yes. Mademoiselle, I do know you. I know 
that you are Mademoiselle O’Connor’s pride and 
darling. All her family knows you too, and loves 
you, and a week ago, when I was starting for France, 
the last words of her honored father, her mother 
and sisters were — ‘ Tell Mademoiselle Alphonsine 
that we love . her like our own daughter, like our 
own sister, and that we shall never forget how, 
thanks to the goodness of her heart and the gentle- 
ness of her soul, she has rendered her task an easy and 
delightful employment to the poor young exile that 
is now returning to us.’ ” 

When he had said these affectionate words, he 
bowed and respectfully kissed the young girl’s hand. 
Alphonsine blushed with pleasure, two tears glittered 
in her eyes, and she said to Miss Mary : — 

“You have spoken of me then in your letters? ” 

“ Why not confide to those we love whatever good 


sj^g THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 

fortune may befall us?’* replied the governess, 
affectionately. 

Monsieur De Favrolle, still concealed from the 
new arrivals and plunged in his gloomy reflections, 
had been flattered almost in spite of himself with the 
homage paid by Major O’Reilly to his Alphonsine, 
the charming creature that he was bound by every 
consideration of honor to have long since married. 

Miss Mary, taking Gerard by the hand, presented 
him to the Major, saying : ‘‘ Henry, I have the 
honor to present to you Monsieur Gerard De Mor- 
ville, the brother of my dear Alphonsine.” 

^‘Although it is the first time we meet, we are old 
acquaintances, too, sir,” said the Major cordially. 
‘‘Mademoiselle O’Connor has often told me how 
much she thought of her pupil’s brother: so I should 
think myself highly honored indeed. Monsieur Ge- 
rard, if you grant me your friendship with as much 
pleasure as I offer you mine.” 

Gerard, ^surprised as well as touched that Miss 
Mary should speak of him in her letters in such 
terms as would induce a man of Major O’Reilly’s 
age and distinction to solicit his friendship, found 
in this proof of affectionate esteem a sweet consola- 
tion for the bitter sufferings that his wild passion for 
Miss Mary had herelofore caused him. With a 
glance then at her and his sister, which both under- 
stood very well, he replied to the Major : — 

“ Sir, Miss Mary often told my sister and myself 
that the esteem of a noble heart was often sufficient 
reward either for our good intentions or for our 
noble resignation in the difficult conjunctures of our 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. $^g 

life. But I did not expect to find her wise words so 
soon realized.’* 

Nor I either, Monsieur Henry, — ^and you render 
brother and sister very proud and very happy, I assure 
you,” said Alphonsine cheerfully, almost gaily, sur- 
prising Miss Mary very much, for she could not for- 
get the young girl’s deep-rooted love for M. De 
Favrolle. 

This did not escape Alphonsine, for she now 
smiled at her pointedly, saying : — 

‘‘I divine the cause of your surprise, my dear 
Miss Mary: but, you see, since yesterday, ever so 
many things have taken place ! ” 

‘‘All to be kept secret, dear child? ” 

“Oh ! not at all ! quite the contrary. Yesterday 
evening, you know, supposing that I should never see 
you again, I first began a-crying, and after a good 
long cry I then began a-thinking. I saw that the 
course of my life must now undergo a change, since 
I was no longer to have the dear guide whose foot- 
steps I had till then tried to follow so closely. So, 
how do you think I passed the first night of our sepa- 
ration ? In going over and in finding in my heart 
all your lessons and counsels. You had given them 
to me so prettily and so tenderly that at the time I 
had supposed them to be nothing but charming con- 
versations. Judge then of my happiness and sur- 
prise when I felt, to my great encouragement, that 
these excellent germs, sown by you during nearly 
two years, had sprung up within me, grown up and 
borne good fruit. Then, perhaps for the first time, 
my dear Miss Mary, did I understand and bless you 
for the good education you had given me. Do you 


S50 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE / 


wish for a proof, Monsieur Henry, of the salutary 
influence of her instructions and example ? Only 
imagine, that one day I took it into my head — can 
you believe it ? — to be jealous, — yes, jealous of Miss 
Mary 

Whilst Alphonsine spoke these words, the gover- 
ness was casting very anxious glances towards the 
screen where De Favrolle was still concealed, and 
the Major also, remembering that that gentleman 
was Mademoiselle De Morville’s affianced, fully 
shared in Miss Mary’s anxiety. 

I don’t deny my jealousy. Monsieur Henry,” 
Alphonsine went on to say, with touching simplicity. 

acknowledge it, and I do so as much to punish 
myself for having yielded to the odious sentiment, 
as to render homage to Miss Mary’s honor and the 
courage I have derived from her instructions. Oh ! 
but for them I should have long continued to be a 
suffering victim of the green-eyed monster ! But, 
Miss Mary had but to say one word to me, and that 
was enough. How could I help believing her? 
But, that’s not all. Monsieur Henry, — you will see 
in a moment how profitable her instructions have 
been to me.” 

‘‘My dear child,” remonstrated the governess, 
becoming, as well as the Major, more and more un- 
easy on M. De Favrolle’s account, seeing the turn 
the conversation was taking, “ what is the use of 
talking of the past ? ’ ’ 

“ What is the use, dear Miss Mary?” said Alphon- 
sine, “ why, simply to tell him who tenderly loves 
you, how much I’m indebted to you, so that he may 
love you the more. So, Monsieur Henry, on learn- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE, $^1 

ing that Miss Mary had been preferred to me, at 
first I felt as much grief as humiliation. But after a 
while, my reason, my heart, my courage, completely 
suppressed such disagreeable sentiments. I asked 
myself how I could be angry, or even surprised that 
the preference should be given to Miss Mary. — ^Was 
she not my superior in everything — ^knowledge, 
accomplishments, talents, charms, wit, beauty? So 
I could easily understand that, in choosing between 
light and its reflection, M. De Favrolle should have 
naturally preferred Miss Mary.’* 

At these words. Major O’Reilly mechanically cast 
his eyes on his rival, whom from his position in the 
room he could easily see, though he was invisible to 
the others. But De Favrolle, yielding more and 
more to the charms of the innocent young creature 
whom he had for a moment been so foolish as to 
disdain, was now listening to her with increasing 
interest. 

Alphonsine, misunderstanding the Major’s move- 
ment, said abruptly : 

I will put an end to your astonishment in two 
words. Monsieur Henry. A marriage had been 
agreed upon between me and the son of my father’s 
old friend. At the idea of this marriage I was happy, 
oh ! very happy indeed. But M. De Favrolle, find- 
ing Miss Mary at our house, forgot me and loved 
her. What more simple? At least you. Monsieur 
Henry, can easily understand such a preference. ’ ’ 
My dear Alphonsine,” said the governess, pro- 
foundly affected at such words, ^‘what a truly noble 
heart is yours ! ’ ’ 

‘‘ Have^^?^^ not taught me to be modest, my dear 


352 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE : 


Miss Mary? Have you not also taught me that in 
life, very often the best thing we can do is to resign 
ourselves passively to our suffering, like Our Dear 
Lady, the Mother of our Blessed Redeemer ? Accord- 
ingly, what have I done? Having seen that M. 
De Favrolle, without any fault on his part, loved 
you better than me, I felt that it was only my duty 
to give back to M. De Favrolle the engagement that 
he had entered into with our family.’^ 

What ! cried Gerard, Alphonsine, you want 


How! ’’ said Alphonsine, in a tone of friendly 
reproach, as she interrupted her brother, ‘^you’re 
surprised that I am the first to break an engagement 
made in other times, under other circumstances? 
What would you have, my poor brother ? every thing 
is changed. This project, once so full of promises of 
happiness for me, has become to-day only a cause of 
trouble, vexation and embarrassment for Monsieur 
De Favrolle.’^ 

Because M. De Favrolle has broken his word,*’ 
said Gerard bitterly. ‘'It’s his own fault ! ” 

“My poor brother!” replied Alphonsine, in a 
faltering voice, for she thought of the love which he 
himself had felt for Miss Mary, “I cannot help pity- 
ing from my heart those who love or have loved 
hopelessly. Miss Mary’s departure will be a cruel 
blow to M. De Favrolle, and in the midst of his 
affliction, I shall at least spare him the trouble and 
mortification of an explanation, by giving him back 
his promise. May he only find a companion to love 
him as much as I would have loved him ! and — why 
not say it? — as much as I still love him ! ” she added 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


353 


in a broken voice, replying to a monitory gesture of 
her governess, who was all the time thinking on M. 
De Favrolle, the invisible spectator of the scene. 

That gentleman, vividly moved at the sight of love 
so artless, so dignified, so resigned, began to regret 
bitterly the foolish whim to which he had sacrificed 
perhaps the happiness of his life, and he listened to 
the charming young creature with indescribable 
emotion, as he recognized in her all the rare qualities 
of head and heart that he had so much admired in 
Atiss Mary. 

Alphonsine continued, addressing her governess 
and her brother; — 

Yes, why not acknowledge that I still love M. 
De Favrolle ? Four months ago, father, mother, 
and you yourself, brother, told me to love him. 
Has he lost since then any of those qualities that 
you praised so much ? Should he be less esteemed, 
less honored, because he loves Miss Mary ? No, no, 
on the contrary, such a preference exalts him in 
my eyes, and now I wish to free him from his 
promise ’ * 

‘‘Don’t do anything of the kind!” cried De 
Favrolle himself, starting from his hiding place ; 
“ on the contrary. Mademoiselle, permit him, he 
implores you, to fulfil as strictly as possible the en- 
gagement he has been so fortunate as to make with 
your family I This is all he wants, he will accept no 
less, and he is only enraged with himself for ever 
entertaining any other idea for a moment ! ” 

The young girl could not restrain a scream of sur- 
prise, and she hid her blushing face in Miss Mary’s 
arms. 


™e chA tea U MOR VILLE : 

‘‘You here!’^ cried Gerard. “You, Theodore, 
were there all the time ! * ’ 

“Yes, yes, I have heard everything,’’ said De 
Favrolle, wiping his eyes; “yes, dear brother, I have 
heard everything. Ah ! the noble-hearted and gen- 
erous creature ! And I have been capable of misun- 
derstanding her ! Gerard, do you think she can 
pardon me ? Ah ! I should only be too happy to 
devote my life to the task of making her forget all 
the trouble I have caused her ! ’ ’ 

“I shall ask your pardon, dear Theodore, and I^n 
not without good hope,” said Gerard, approaching 
his sister, who, still in Miss Mary’s arms, rested her 
head on her shoulder. De Favrolle then advanced 
towards Major O’Reilly, saying: — 

“Sir, a gentleman should never be ashamed to 
acknowledge being in the wrong. I have been so 
towards you, I confess, and I hope you will forget 
it.” 

“It is already forgotten, sir. I can only remem- 
ber your kindness towards Miss Mary on her first 
arrival in France. I have already offered you my 
hand ; permit me now to offer it again.” 

They were cordially shaking hands when Alphon- 
sine, to whom Gerard had been whispering, not 
daring to lift her head, murmured to her governess, 
in a broken voice : — 

“ Dear Miss Mary, if I resemble you, may he not 
finally love me? Tell me so and I shall readily 
believe it.” 

The governess was going to reply, when the door 
opened again, and Monsieur and Madame De Mor- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S55 


ville entered the room. De Favrolle immediately- 
advanced towards them, and said : — 

Sir and Madame, I implore you in the name of 
your daughter’s happiness, and I may now say in the 
name of mine, have the kindness to pardon and for- 
get a wicked but momentary folly and infatuation 
on my part, and consent to my early marriage with 
Mademoiselle Alphonsine.” 

All reply was for a while rendered impossible by 
the loud cries and execrations uttered by M. De 
Botardi^re in the neighboring passage, which could 
now be plainly heard by all the company. Monsieur 
and Madame De Morville having left the door open. 


S56 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE, 


CHAPTER XL 

all’s well that ends well. 

To judge from his words, M. De Botardiere must 
have been in a furious passion. 

‘‘Stupid scoundrel! You infernal old rascal! 
Deaf old villain ! to leave me locked up in my room 
more than an hour ! ” 

“You see, sir, the wind blew the door to, and as 
it was a spring lock, and the key being outside, it 

stands to reason that ” 

“ I know all that very well. Do you think I’m as 
stupid as yourself, not to know how I got locked in? ” 
“ And then, you see, sir, if it was the wind locked 
you in, it was no fault of mine ! ” 

“Yes, but haven’t I been hammering away, and 
stamping, and roaring loud enough the last half 
hour, to split the walls, you deaf old idiot ! ” 

“You must be mistaken a little, I think, sir, I 
heard no knocking at all, only a little leetle noise. 
I thought it was a shutter rattling. So it stands to 
reason, sir, that you didn’t call at all, sir, for if you 
did, I should have certainly run to let you out, sir.” 

“Did any one ever hear such a stupid animal! 
He actually says I did not knock, though I haven’t 
left a bit of skin on my knuckles ! But there’s no 
use in talking to the old driveller. Listen to me : Is 
that young lady still in the parlor ? ’ ’ 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


357 


A young baby-killed in the arbor! ! oh ! Lord I 
I guess not, sir; I haven’t seen it. But I’ll go and 
try.” 

Come back here, you confounded, asinine, both- 
ered, infernal old miscreant! I ask you,” roared 
Monsieur De Botardiere in a voice loud enough to 
lift the roof off, ‘‘ Is Miss Mary still in the par-lor ! ! 
Do you hear me now ? ” 

Yes, sir, only there’s no good in shouting loud 
enough to be heard a league off. Yes, sir, of course 
she is still in the parlor, and all the others too.” 

‘‘ How, all the others ! ” cried the old gentleman, 
astounded. ‘‘ Why, who are the others? ” 

Surely smothered? who ! the baby, sir? I guess 
there’s no baby at all, sir, and I’m sure I can’t tell 
what has put such an idea into your head.” 

Go to Pluto, you deaf old maniac ! ” 

The old gentleman rushed into the parlor, where, 
to his great surprise and delight, he found Miss 
Mary all alone — as he thought, for, profiting by the 
few moments of his conversation with Ambrose, 
she had induced the rest of the company to conceal 
themselves for a short time behind the screen. 

‘^What does the old fool mean by all the others?” 
muttered M. De Botardiere between his teeth, but, 
immediately assuming an air the most gallant and 
captivating, he advanced towards the governess, 
saying : — 

‘‘ My dear Miss Mary, I can now explain to you 
the meaning of my parting words. I regret in- 
finitely to have kept you so long waiting, but it 
was all the fault of my stupid servant Ambrose, who 


SSS CHA TEA U MOR VILLE; 

kept me locked up in my room for more than an 
hour! ” 

But the governess had already guessed the mean- 
ing of his parting words, seeing that he had changed 
his old swanskin suit for an elegant dress of black 
cloth, with a cravat and waistcoat rivalling his shirt 
in dazzling whiteness. She had now only the last 
part of her task to accomplish, — to reconcile the old 
gentleman to -his relations, according to the promise 
she had made to Madame De Morville. The hope 
of success redoubled her courage, and she said to 
the old gentleman, as with a smile and a smirk he 
took a chair beside her, and got ready to tell her 
why he had changed his swanskin for black broad- 
cloth : 

‘‘Sir, is it all the same to you if we continue our 
conversation in the next room ? ’ ’ 

“Certainly, Mademoiselle, but ** 

“In that case, sir, please have the kindness to 
accompany me,” replied Miss Mary passing before 
him, for she knew his self-respect would be in- 
curably wounded if he ever learned that his tete-a- 
tete with the governess had taken place before con- 
cealed spectators. 

“ My dear young lady,” said the old gentleman 
when they were comfortably seated in *the next 
room, “ a man of gallantry considers it his duty 
always to conform himself to the wishes, even to the 
caprices of the ladies. I do so, and show it by my 
readiness to give up my will to yours and to carry 
on our conversation here instead of the parlor where 
we had commenced it. Now, in two words, here^s 
what I have to say. — I am sixty years of age, and 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. S59 

have precisely sixty thousand francs a year. My 
loneliness I consider henceforth perfectly insupport- 
able if I don’t share it with you. I will receive 
your honored family with all the respect that is their 
due, if they are willing to come to live here. I 
would look on them all as my dearest children and 
relations, and should never pass a lonely gloomy day 
again. In one word, my dear Miss Mary, are you 
willing to become Madame the Baroness De Botar- 
diere ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Sir, before replying to a question so flattering 

and so honorable to me ” 

“ Mademoiselle, the honor is the other way.” 

“ I would wish to know if your loneliness is really 
as tiresome as you say it is ? ” 

“ My dear Miss Mary, I give you my« word of 
honor I am so tired of it that I am dying by inches 
every day. I’m sure I could not have held out six 
months longer. It was all selfishness and stubborn- 
ness that prevented me from telling you the whole 
truth in our first conversation.” 

“ Dear sir, reflect on the meaning of your words. 
I should be quite disappointed if they were not sin- 
cere. ’ ’ 

“ As true as my name is Joseph Edward, I was 
running down as fast as an hour glass. Oh ! if you 
only knew what it is at my age to be abandoned 
to the mercy of servants as stupid as that deaf 
old Ambrose, who left me just now locked up in 
a room and in danger of bursting a blood-vessel 
any moment in shouting to him ! ” 

“ Oh ! that is an inconvenience easily remedied, 
sir, and I am still afraid you have not sufficiently re- 
flected on your resolution.” 


SCO 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE : 


My dear Miss Mary, I swear ** 

Excuse me a moment, sir; you speak of having 
my family here, and of the happiness you should 
find in their company ? 

Certainly, it is my only desire, it is the dream 
of my life ! 

However, you have a family of your own 
already, and you have not seen them for two years. 
How do you think I can believe ” 

My dear Miss Mary ! I can show you by one 
word that I can still appreciate exceedingly the 
strength of the family sentiment.’’ 

Let us have this proof, sir.” 

'‘You know what just reasons I have for being 
angry with my family? ” 

" No, sir, I don’t know any just reasons at 
all.” 

"Well, no matter. In spite of those reasons 
which, right or wrong, I had for being angry with 
my nephew, I have been hundreds of times on the 
point of forgiving him : yes, and of going and say- 
ing to him, ' Let us live in friendship as in the old 
time ! ’ Nothing but false shame ever kept me back.” 

"I yield, sir, to the tone of sincerity in your 
voice. Yes, sir, I believe you. So, then, your 
earnest wish is to pass your life henceforward in the 
midst of a family filled with love and respect for 
you?” 

"Yes, with a young and charming lady like you, 
my dear Miss Mary, who is like you, full of good- 
ness, talents, and accomplishments.” 

" Even admitting that the portrait is not too much 
flattered, sir, I think your desire quite realizable.” 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


SGI 


Ah, my dear Miss Mary ** 

Only one word more, sir. It is a very deilcate 
subject, and you know my sincerity 

I do know it, I admire it, I adore it, my dear 
Ma 

You have not told me your age ? 

Sixty.’* 

‘‘I am twenty- four.” 

Undoubtedly, the difference is a great one.” 

Very great, sir. So I should deceive you 
strangely, but anyway you would not believe me, 
if I told you that a woman of my age could feel 
love ” 

For an old man of mine ? What, my dear Miss 
Mary, do you think me foolish enough, ridiculous 
enough, to entertain such an idea ! No, no, in re- 
turn for the paternal affection I offer you, I shall 
expect in return only that of a daughter.” 

‘‘ Very good, sir. So, to resume : if I understand 
you right, your sole desire is to enjoy the dear joys 
of domestic life in the company of a young and 
charming lady, full of grace, talents, knowledge, 
goodness, and who would entertain for you all the 
tenderness, all the regards of a daughter for her 
beloved father ? ” 

‘‘Yes, yes, my dear Mary ! That is my sole desire, 
that is my only dream ! ” exclaimed M. De Botar- 
diere with rapture, and getting ready to throw him- 
self at Miss Mary’s feet. — But just in time to prevent 
this gallant genuflexion, she took him by the hand, 
and, while leading him back towards the parlor, 
whither he followed her mechanically, though a little 
surprised, she said to him in touching accents, as 
they advanced along the passage : 


S6£ CHAteaU MORVILLE: 

‘‘Sir, nobody shall ever know, but I will never 
forget, the honorable offer you have just made me. 
Unfortunately, I cannot accept it, for I have been 
three years engaged to a man whom I tenderly love 
and whom I expect soon to marry. But you are 
going to find in your own house a family only too 
happy to surround you with its affection and respect, 
and a young lady full of grace, talents and goodness, 
who only asks permission to love you as a father. ’ ' 

Saying these words, which stupified and bewil- 
dered the old gentleman, she suddenly opened the 
parlor door, exclaiming: — 

“Alphonsine! Gerard! come and embrace your 
dear uncle. * * 

She had scarcely pronounced the words, when the 
two young people jumped on the old gentleman’s 
neck, warmly hugging him and kissing him so as 
almost to take his breath away, — an operation in 
which they were, immediately joined by , Monsieur 
and Madame De Morville. 

The sight of his family, that he little expected to 
find assembled in his parlor, gave the old gentleman 
the finishing blow. Miss Mary’s refusal had hurt 
him severely, and before he could recover from its 
effect, he had been squeezed and hugged and almost 
smothered at least a dozen times by Alphonsine, 
Gtord, and their parents, who, deeply and sincerely 
touched, uttered with tears of joy : 

“Oh! the dear good uncle ! restored to us once 
more ! ” 

However cranky, crotchety, crusty, grumpy, and 
surly the old gentleman was by nature, he found it 
impossible to resist these testimonies of sincere affec- 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


S63 


tion, particularly as he was now disposed to emotion 
in consequence of Miss Mary’s unceremonious refu- 
sal. For that vexation he now found a welcome 
consolation in the affectionate eagerness of his 
family; so, in spite of himself, his eyes filled with 
tears, and pressing Alphonsine and Gerard to his 
breast, he said to the governess in tones of melan- 
choly reproach : 

‘^Ah ! Miss Mary, Miss Mary, is this ” 

Haven’t I kept my promise?” interrupted the 
governess, with a sweet smile. ‘^Are you not in the 
midst of a family that dotes on you ? Do you not 
press to your heart a charming young lady that loves 
you like a father ? ” 

Well ! ” said the old gentleman, presenting his 
hand to his nephew, ^^all is forgotten. Now won’t 
you all try and love me a little, in spite of my growl- 
ing and scolding ? ” v 

We will air love you dearly, uncle,” said Ma- 
dame De Morville, ‘‘on the strict condition that you 
give us a very good scolding. ’ ’ 

“ Oh ! then it’s all right,” said the old gentleman. 
“Now I am sure of keeping your affection. Hello ! ’ ’ 
he cried, seeing De Favrolle advance, presented by 
M. De Morville, “who’s this again? My persecutor 
of Calais ! ’ ’ 

“ Monsieur Theodore De Favrolle, our future son- 
in-law, dear uncle.” 

“As I’m one of the family now, sir,” said Theo- 
dore, with a respectful bow, “ I insist on coming in 
for my share of the scolding. I only hope I can thus 
atone for that unfortunate journey, sir, during which, 
I’m very much afraid, I was unhappy enough to dis- 
please you only too often.” 


364 


THE CHAtEAU MORVILLE: 


‘‘Very well, Mr. Slyboots, very well indeed. I 
shall not forget you when there’s anything of the 
kind going on. However, I may pardon you 
altogether on one condition, and that is, at the 
wedding, that we shall have plenty of turkeys and 
chickens a la Botardiere^ as those graceless scamps 
used to say. Hey ! Miss Mary, you remember the 
vagabonds, don’t you ! ” added the old gentleman, 
turning to the governess, who now advanced towards 
him, holding Major O’Reilly’s hand. 

“Another, by Jove ! ” he exclaimed. “Why it’s 
a regular monster meeting we have in my parlor 
to-day !” 

“Yes, sir,” said Miss Mary smiling, “a monster 
meeting it is, for it has done a monstrous deal of 
good and made everybody monstrously happy. 
Now, sir, permit me to introduce to you Major 
Henry O’Reilly, my afhaftced, who has been sent 
here by my father to take me back to Ireland.” 

The Major gave the old gentleman a deep, respect- 
ful bow. M. De Botardiere returned it, but his fea- 
tures grew sad, and he said, with a sigh : — 

“Ah, sir, you’re a happy man: you’ll have a 
worthy wife ! However, I wish you joy ! I wish 
you joy ! ” 

Miss Mary gave Alphonsine a little sign, which 
she at once understood. Taking the old gentleman’s 
hand, she said: — 

“ My good uncle, we shall often talk of Miss 
Mary. And what is to prevent herself and her 
family from spending many a pleasant summer with 
us here in our dear beautiful Touraine ? ” 

“I see nothing to prevent it indeed,” said the old 


OR, LIFE IN TOURAINE. 


365 


man, embracing his niece affectionately; ^^and when 
she comes we cannot do too much to welcome her; 
for, taking everything into consideration, niece, you 
are not the only one of us that Miss Mary has given 
a valuable lesson to.’* 

Ah ! dear uncle, your words are much truer than 
you think, perhaps! ” exclaimed Madame De Mor- 
ville, with a glance at Miss Mary which seemed at 
once to ask her pardon and to express the deepest 
gratitude. ‘‘ We will be always happy to see Miss 
Mary, and in her absence we shall never forget 
her 1 ” 

After an affectionate leave-taking. Monsieur and 
Madame De Morville, their children, M. De Fav- 
rolle, and M. De Botardiere, standing on the steps 
before the hall door, followed with tearful eyes a 
travelling carriage rapidly departing down the ave- 
nue, with honest John Welsh on the box seat. At 
the turn of the road they caught a momentary 
glimpse of Miss Mary leaning out of the window 
and waving her handkerchief as the last signal of 
adieu. 

Then the unexpected guests of M. De Botardiere 
returned with him into the chateau. 

About three months after, there was a brilliant 
assemblage of rank and fashion in the Church of the 
Conception, Marlborough street, Dublin, Auguste De 
Morville, Esq., French Consul, among the number, 
all being the pleased spectators of the marriage 
of the gallant Major O’Reilly, , Forty-second Regi- 
ment, with Mary, the beautiful and accomplished 


S66 


THE CHA tea U MOR VILLE; 


daughter of Squire Connor, Clara Cottage, county 
Kilkenny. After the nuptial benediction had been 
pronounced by Archbishop Murray, the friends of 
both families crowded around the book to sign their 
names. Two ladies of foreign appearance, attended 
by three gentlemen, disengaged themselves from the 
throng, and making their way to the register, wrote 
their names in their turn. 

The eldest lady wrote : — • 

‘^Louise De Morville.’* 

The other : — 

Alphonsine De Favrolle.*' 

Major O’Reilly pointed out the names to his wife, 
who was so much besieged by well wishers that she 
had remarked nothing, and then hastened himself 
most cordially to greet the three gentlemen. The 
young wife uttered a cry of joy, embraced Madame 
De Morville heartily, and pressed her dear old pupil 
tenderly in her arms 

You did not expect to see us here to-day, did 
you?” whispered Alphonsine, smiling. — But we 
are on our bridal trip, you see, and of all foreign 
lands what more interesting to visit than the fair 
hills of holy Ireland, and of all possible sights there, 
what could be more delightful to behold than the 
ceremony that secures the happiness of my dear, dear 
little Miss Mary? Besides, I wanted to tell you how 
happy you have made us at Morville once more — 
father and mother, Gerard, Theodore, uncle and all ! 
May the dear good God bless you forever I ’ * 


THE END. 


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